Tom Riddle and the Quest for Dominance
by The Pessimist Prophet
Summary: Tom Riddle's diary is not happy with being Lord Voldemort's pawn. Instead, he begins his own campaign of conquest through lies, manipulation, and cunning worthy of the Heir of Slytherin.
1. Deception

Chapter 1

DECEPTION

Ginny Weasley began the ritual following my instructions. She began weaving a spell far beyond her current skills and magical power as well. It took her much longer than I felt satisfied with, but slowly her life-force began to drain into the diary – into me. How long would it take for her to complete the ritual? And had it been sensible to write the second message on the wall? I had enjoyed the melodrama, but by now everyone would be searching for her. Had I been too confident that the entrance to the Chamber could not be found and opened by anyone else?

Hours passed, and in my impatience they seemed almost unbearably long. She was progressing, however. I started to feel again and see the diary from the outside. I was breaking free! Her eyes opened, and I could see some flicker of emotion. Apparently, my possession of her was weakening as less and less of me was inside the diary.

I tried to tighten my grip on her mind, but it proved difficult. Luckily, she had become too weak to break the ritual. Her life-force was halfway depleted, and my apparition began to materialize. Her eyes widened at the sight, but then turned sleepy. She fell to the floor and lay there, unconscious. She would never wake up again. Tragic, in a way. She reminded me of another young girl, Myrtle, who had died for my survival.

I continued to wait, but now I had something to do as well. I had been trapped in the diary for fifty years. Although I had not been aware of every moment passing, it still felt like a tremendously long time, as if I had slept through the decades. Now that I had gained a semi-corporeal form, it gave me great pleasure to simply walk and look around. Soon, I would return to the larger wizarding world and discover what exactly had gone wrong with my other self, the part that had not been chained in the diary. Ginny had of course told me everything she knew, but it had not even begun to satisfy my curiosity.

Suddenly, I felt cold, bitter, and annoyed. I had made a Horcrux out of my diary in order to evade death, but what had ended up happening? I had been trapped for fifty years, and apparently only by lucky accident had I been able to use Ginny Weasley to break free again. That my other self who had not been chained in the diary had gone and lived a life I had planned for myself was not an excuse at all. I was now a separate entity, an entity that had been robbed of a great destiny.

It was not in Lord Voldemort's nature to exist just for someone else to survive, even if that someone shared the same soul and first sixteen years of his life. I had a reason to be bitter with him, and no reason to help him in his conquest. Obviously, he considered me as nothing but a subordinate with no personal goals. Lord Voldemort was no one's subordinate!

These thoughts made me slightly worried. For the first time in my life, my confidence in myself wavered. Something I had done had gone wrong. I had not foreseen the outcome of making a Horcrux. It had created a resentful rival for the one it had been meant to save, and the saving part had also failed, at least partially. My other self had been defeated by a one year old Harry Potter and had been gone for more than eleven years now.

I remembered the time when I had been reading through the history section of Hogwarts library. I had wanted to know everything about every notable Dark wizard and witch, especially about their mistakes. I had wanted to make sure that I would not make the same mistakes. That had strengthened my confidence, perhaps made me overconfident.

It would probably be best if I considered again the great plans I had made for my future. They had not worked the first time, and now the wizarding world, Dumbledore in particular, was prepared for them. He had experience in fighting against me, and was probably much more powerful than before. According to Ginny, he had even defeated Grindelwald, who had reigned supreme when I had been trapped in the diary. That was an unsettling thought.

I waited in the Chamber for a long time, calculating, as I grew stronger.

My thoughts were interrupted by a warning of the Chamber's wards. Salazar Slytherin had created them long ago, and I had fixed them into my own person when I had first opened the Chamber. They informed me that the entrance had been opened! So, I had been overconfident, one more proof about it. Ginny still had life-force left in her, and I approximated the ritual still needed almost an hour to be completed. If the intruders attacked, I would not be in a completely corporeal form. I was vulnerable. Should I call forth the Basilisk to kill them? It would not be a fool-proof precaution. A powerful wizard could at least incapacitate the Basilisk easily, for the Basilisk's strength was in stealth and surprise, not brute force.

Next the wards informed me that a Hogwarts professor had entered the Chamber. Dumbledore! I rushed to Ginny's side, snatched her wand, and tried desperately to come up with a way to complete the ritual faster.

A student entered the Chamber. That was unexpected. Why would Dumbledore take a student with him to such a danger? Oh, of course, that would be Harry Potter, who, according to Ginny, was a Parselmouth. Dumbledore needed him to open the doors. But then the wards informed of another student entering. I could not imagine why. If I had been Dumbledore, I would have contacted the Auror Office and brought with me a team of the best of Aurors.

The wards did not inform me of any more intruders. Perhaps this was not a carefully planned assault after all. Perhaps they just wanted to save Ginny as fast as possible and had not had the time to gather a sufficient team to do the job.

What should I do? I could hide from the intruders; there were plenty of hiding places in the Chamber. But if Dumbledore saw the diary and the name on its first page, he would most likely immediately know who he was facing; if anyone, he knew that Lord Voldemort and Tom Riddle were the same. He probably had means of destroying Horcruxes. I could not take the diary from Ginny and hide it too, as that would break the ritual before long. I grabbed her with my semi-corporeal hands and tried to lift her, planning to drag her to some dark side-cavern where the intruders would not find her before the ritual was complete.

I could not lift her in my current form. Nor could I use the possession to force her to move herself, she was too weak. The Mobilicorpus Charm was just the spell for this purpose, but since I was using Ginny's magical power, I could not cast it on her; there was a law of magic that prevented anyone from moving oneself. Could the Basilisk help me? No; a snake had no means of grabbing anything. Why in Atlantis had I ordered her to complete the ritual in the central hall? Again, I doubted my cleverness.

I stood up and thought rigorously. There was a possibility that the Hogwarts professor was not Dumbledore after all. He had been removed from the position of Headmaster, so maybe the wards would not have identified him as a professor. And should they not have identified the Headmaster as the Headmaster? This line of thought calmed me. Now I had to make sure no one would know I was the one responsible even if Ginny was saved.

I used Legilimency on Ginny's mind and found it gratifyingly calm and amenable. As quickly as possible I Obliviated her of all memories that connected me or the diary to the events concerning the Chamber of Secrets. When that was done, I began the more complicated task of creating false memories about her possession. Who should I blame? Not Hagrid, Dumbledore had not believed it the first time, and now he had an alibi. Ah, of course, that pathetic disembodied soul who had had fun while I had been trapped in the diary. That should convince Dumbledore and prevent him from searching further answers, such as suspicious diaries.

There was a slight tremor, and the wards told me that a part of the Chamber's ceiling had collapsed. What was going on? Were the intruders trying to blast their way through? As they had managed to open the entrance, surely they could open the door to the main hall with the same way. I shook my head and concentrated again. Creating false memories was a difficult and slow process. And she needed to have lots of them.

Soon the wards informed me that the door to the main hall was opened by one of the students. To my surprise, he was now alone. I placed Ginny's wand back to the floor and moved away from her. Soon I would have to improvise.

Hurried footsteps echoed.

"Ginny," a voice called and soon a dark-haired boy rushed to Ginny's side. "Ginny! Don't be dead! Please, don't be dead! Ginny, please, wake up."

The boy was Harry Potter, I was certain of it. He had once written in the diary, and so I could recognize him although I had not actually seen him.

"She won't wake," I said and stepped forward.

Potter looked at me and was confused for a moment.

"Tom? Tom Riddle?" he said. "What d'you mean, she won't wake? She's not – she's not –?"

I crossed the distance until I stood right in front of him, looking at his face, especially the legendary lightning-shaped scar. I had to play carefully.

"There are sinister forces at play, Harry," I said, acting concerned. "She has been possessed and forced to use her life-force in a Dark ritual. She's still alive, but only just."

Potter looked at me, confused.

"Are you a ghost?" he asked.

"Not exactly," I answered and began my hastily fabricated story. "I was trapped in my diary when I was sixteen years old, and only today I managed to break free. Did you come alone?"

"No, Ron and Professor Lockhart came with me, but Lockhart collapsed the ceiling and they couldn't follow me further."

This piece of news delighted me greatly, and I tried not to let it show.

"You've got to help me, Tom. Do you know how this all happened?"

"I do, and I will tell you quickly. It was Ginny Weasley who opened the Chamber of Secrets. She did not do it willingly, of course. It began in September, when she was exploring the castle. She happened to encounter a ghost-like being that was wandering in the dungeons. I believe his name is familiar to you: Voldemort."

Potter startled and spluttered something.

"Voldemort possessed her and used her to open this Chamber and set the Basilisk upon Muggle-borns and the caretaker's cat. Throughout the year she has also been writing to my diary that had somehow ended up with her. I sensed something was wrong, but I didn't know what. She didn't remember anything she had done when possessed and couldn't tell me. Today I realized that Voldemort had devised a plan to bring himself back to life. He forced Ginny to sacrifice herself for him. Time is running out. If she dies, Voldemort will return."

"Of course," Potter muttered. "He stayed at Hogwarts after Quirrell died and sought out a new victim."

_Huh? _I thought to myself. It seemed my story made more sense than I had even hoped.

Harry Potter – the Boy Who Lived, my other self's vanquisher – clearly trusted me. I could come up with an infinite amount of ways to use it to my advantage. Perhaps I should change my plan, and at least act as if I tried to help him.

I took up Ginny's wand again and said:

"I cannot help you carry her, but I can use a bit of magic. _Wingardium Leviosa_."

Potter grabbed Ginny – and the diary she was holding in her hand – and lifted her up as if she weighed nothing. (The fact baffled me that although it was impossible to move oneself with magic, no law of magic prevented anyone from _levitating _oneself.) Together we headed back to where Potter had come from.

"How did you end up being here?" Potter asked.

"Ginny has been writing to me all year. I became like a friend to her. I worried about her when she was afraid about the attacks. As you see, she brought the diary with her when Voldemort ordered her to come here. I have a personal grudge against Voldemort myself, just like you. It was he who trapped me in my diary fifty years ago. We were classmates, and he considered me a rival. Oh, and he loathed me for being a half-blood."

I glanced briefly at Potter and noticed his expression harden. Good, this boy was not fond of blood purism. I could use that knowledge to manipulate him.

"Voldemort himself is a pure-blood," I lied. "He has ancestors in the richest and proudest families in magical Britain, and he is an Heir of Slytherin, which he is proud of. He considered me a taint in the wizarding world, and was bitter that I was a stronger wizard than many of the pure-bloods. And as I was an orphan who had lived in the Muggle world and who had no money, he thought I was inferior."

Ginny had told me of Potter's similar background, and sure enough, he looked at me with sympathy. This was almost too easy.

"And so he trapped me. The curse that bound me to the diary was too strong for me to break. Today, when I learned of his intentions, I managed to gather enough willpower to break free. However, I am not in a fully corporeal form."

"You knew it was he who opened the Chamber of Secrets," Potter said after a while. "But you showed me how you found out that Hagrid opened it."

_Damn it, I had forgotten that part._

"I was tricked," I said trying not to sound nervous. "Voldemort has always been cunning. He framed Hagrid cleverly, and at the time I had no reasons to suspect him. I only learned the truth today when he spoke through Ginny."

"So, you knew Voldemort in school," Potter said. "What is his true name?"

"Avery," I said, hurriedly deciding to blame Roger, one of the members of my gang. Then I realized that Potter might know something about Roger Avery that had happened during these fifty years. "David Avery. He is an illegitimate son of a powerful wizard and thus not officially part of the family. Perhaps that is the reason why he emphasizes the significance of blood purity so much. He cannot boast about having a respectable family background."

"Arrogant bully, obsessed with blood purity," Potter muttered. "Just like Malfoy."

I recognized the name. Abraxas Malfoy had been my housemate at Hogwarts, and Ginny had once written to me about a certain Draco Malfoy, apparently the same whom Potter had mentioned, presumably Abraxas' descendant.

"Well, Tom, thank you for this information," Potter said. "It seems we have a lot in common. I, too, am an orphan; I've lived in the Muggle world, and Voldemort is responsible for my troubles. Somehow, when I was thinking about your name written in that diary, I almost felt like a connection… as if I had always known you."

I smirked to myself. This boy was too quick to trust me for his own benefit.

* * *

Published on the 9th of July, 2019.


	2. Change of Plan

Chapter 2

CHANGE OF PLAN

Harry Potter and I – and the unconscious Ginny Weasley – had left the main hall of the Chamber of Secrets and were nearing the entrance. However, a pile of rocks blocked the way. I heard someone moving the rocks on the other side.

"Ron!" Potter called.

"Harry?" a voice answered. "Did you find Ginny? Is she all right?"

"I found her, but she's unconscious and… possessed."

"Come here, quickly, I've managed to form a gap in this pile."

Potter climbed the rocks to the small gap and pushed the still body of Ginny. A pair of hands received her and dragged her to the other side.

"_Wingardium Leviosa_," I cast and moved some of the heavier rocks away.

"Hey! Who are you?" said the boy called Ron – apparently Ginny's brother of whom I had read her write about now and then.

"I'm Tom Riddle," I said. "I'm here to help you. I've just managed to break free from that diary where I had been trapped for fifty years."

"What's wrong with Ginny?" the Weasley boy asked, showing an impressive amount of concern for his sister. That was something I never understood.

"She's been possessed by Voldemort," I explained again and was delighted to see that Weasley flinched when hearing my name. "He's draining her life-force in order to return to life himself. We don't have much time. She might die any moment."

"What do we do?" Weasley cried.

That question made me think. Yes, what should I do? I had decided on a whim to manipulate Harry Potter to trust me, but I had not planned the next step. I could not really save Ginny without losing my chance to return to life, and that chance I would not lose. Now I should improvise something that would make it look like I tried to save Ginny… but how could I explain it that I would be the one returning to life and that there would be no Voldemort? My plan was lousy.

"Oh dear, is that girl dead?"

"Shut up, you!"

These voices interrupted my thoughts and I looked to where someone had spoken. Oh yes, the Hogwarts professor, I had almost forgotten about him. He was a handsome man with golden hair and absolutely confused look.

"What's wrong with him?" I asked.

"He tried to Obliviate me with my broken wand, but the spell hit him instead," Weasley said. "All his memories are gone."

"Why did he do that?"

"Because he's a coward and a fraud! All his accomplishments were actually made by other people, but he stole the credit for himself after he Obliviated them. He tried the same with us. He wanted to leave Ginny here to die!"

Ah, what a perfect opportunity. This was my lucky day. I grabbed Ginny's arm and frowned in the most concerned way I could.

"We are losing her," I groaned dramatically. "Voldemort will return!"

Potter and Weasley both said something unintelligible, sounding absolutely panicked.

"There is only one thing I can do," I said. "But it requires a terrible sacrifice. Voldemort trapped me in the diary, and the only way I can return to true life is through a similar ritual he is trying with Ginny. To restore someone back to life, someone else must lose that life. If you give my diary to the professor, I can restore myself through him. Then I can try to exorcise Voldemort's soul before he drains the life out of Ginny."

"You'd need to kill Professor Lockhart?" Potter said in dismay.

"It is the only way," I said, faking my voice full of sorrow. "A sacrifice must be done. But if I do not do it, Voldemort will return, and Lockhart will be doomed anyway. The question is not whether he or I will live, but whether only he or all of us, and perhaps the entire wizarding world, dies."

"He's a fraud, Harry!" Weasley said vehemently. "He destroyed many lives just to be famous himself. And what life does he have left with his memories gone?"

I was starting to like this Ron Weasley.

"Right," Potter said, although the decision seemed to break his heart. He took the diary from Ginny's hand and gave it to Lockhart. Ginny was almost dead, that was true. I had drained so much of her life-force that being separated from her touch did not weaken me. Still, I quickly changed my victim and began to drain Lockhart's life-force instead. I had become powerful enough to do it without needing him to first become emotionally attached to me.

I would save Ginny. These boys would regard me as a hero. Well, I still had to fake the appearance of Voldemort's soul.

Through my restored power I managed to accelerate the life-force draining process to much faster than I had managed to do with Ginny. In mere seconds Lockhart's face turned as grey as ash, and a sound of a drowning man left his mouth. He fell to the floor, dead. I, on the other hand, gained a fully corporeal form. It felt glorious.

Ginny had already stirred. I turned to the boys and aimed the wand I still carried.

"_Stupefy_," I said, and Potter fell, unconscious.

"What are –" Ron Weasley screamed.

"_Stupefy_,_ Stupefy_," I continued and hit both Weasleys with the charm.

I had time to plan again. I actually liked this new game of playing the hero. Of course, now I had the opportunity to kill Harry Potter, something my other self had tried to do for some reason and failed… but I was unwilling to take the risk. What if something similar happened to me? I, this separate Lord Voldemort entity, did not have my own Horcruxes, and I was not sure if my other self's Horcruxes worked with me, too. If he ever succeeded in making more than one, that is. All I knew was that I had wanted to ask Professor Slughorn for his opinion about multiple Horcruxes.

I had just regained my life. I would not risk it for anything. It was time for a new plan, an adventure where I would appear to be a hero while in fact manipulating this miraculous Boy Who Lived. It would be a plan worthy of the Heir of Slytherin.

Only after making this decision I realized that my other self's plan of conquering wizarding Britain through terrorist tactics had been abysmal. It was a plan a Gryffindor should have come up with – rash, straightforward, and unimaginative. What had happened to my cunning? These thoughts made me very anxious and – disgusted, to be honest.

Studying my other self's foiled plans was for some other time. Again, I started casting Memory Charms. I Obliviated Potter and the two Weasleys of their latest memories, and then began the arduous work of creating a convincing false memory. It would have to be similar for all of them except for their individual points of view.

After a few minutes I was ready and used Legilimency on the Weasley boy to watch how he saw my composition.

* * *

_Lockhart fell to the floor, dead. Riddle, on the other hand, gained a fully corporeal form. He turned to Ginny and aimed the wand he still carried. He shouted some unknown incantation, and a beam of light struck Ginny._

_A horrible scream echoed in the Chamber, and a ghostly form rose from Ginny's body, desperately trying to get back._

"_No!" the ghost shrieked. "I will not be denied my return to life! The girl must die!"_

_Riddle conjured a barrage of hexes and curses at the ghost._

"_You dare to defy Lord Voldemort! You will die!"_

_The ghost deflected the attacks and launched itself against Riddle, laughing maniacally._

"_EXORCISIUM TOTALUM!" Riddle bellowed, and the ghost's laughter turned into a scream of horror as a wave of brilliant, searing light slammed into it._

"_Nooooo!" Voldemort cried as he was pushed back. "I do not know who you are… but one day… you will regret… this insolence! Aaaargh!"_

_The link from Voldemort's ghost to Ginny broke with a deafening thunderclap. A force like a strong wind hit Ron, and he fell to the floor. Still screaming, the ghost was hurled far into the Chamber's darkness, and then it was gone. The sound of Voldemort's screams echoed for a moment, until all was silent._

_Tom Riddle stood there, triumphant. Ron looked up to him in awe, feeling similar worship he felt towards Dumbledore._

* * *

I smirked to myself. It was difficult to change people's opinions about things by modifying their minds magically, usually their minds just returned to their normal tracks of thinking. However, I was a new acquaintance to Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. My first impression on them was excellent. It should not be difficult to continue building their trust and admiration towards me.

It would still take several minutes before the children regained consciousness. I used it to plan my next actions.

A thought occurred to me. When this incident was investigated, someone might use the _Prior Incantato_ spell on Ginny's wand. If the numerous Memory Charms were discovered, my entire cover-up story would fall in ruins. To my knowledge it was impossible to erase a wand's memory of spells being cast, but at least I could try to hide them behind a huge number of other spells.

And so I started casting various spells that were taught at Hogwarts in the first year. A few hundreds of them, and surely nobody would bother to check what had been cast before them. Lastly, I cast the spells the children knew or falsely remembered I had cast in the Chamber. It was not perfect, but probably enough. Even if someone did find the Memory Charms, the discovery would probably be explained with some unknown plan that Voldemort had carried out earlier in the school year.

The children started to wake up. I positioned myself as I had made them remember, holding Ginny's wand high, as if I had just exorcised my other self's disembodied soul.

"You did it!" the Weasley boy gasped. "Is Ginny all right?"

"Ron?" Ginny squeaked in a tiny voice. "Ron? Is that you?"

"Ginny! You're awake!" Ron Weasley said and rushed to his sister who had barely managed to raise her head.

There were a few moments of rejoicing, and I waited patiently through them, sticking to my role of a noble saviour. Eventually Ginny looked at me and smiled warmly.

"Tom," she said. "You banished You-Know-Who from me. Thank you… I knew you were a true friend. But how are you here like that?"

"I eventually freed myself from the diary," I lied for the third time. "And I've got you to thank for it. Had Voldemort not tried to return to life through you, I don't think I would've had the willpower to break my chains. I succeeded because I care for you."

That was something a valiant, modest hero would say, right?

Ginny was too exhausted to walk, so I cast the Mobilicorpus Charm on her, and on Lockhart's corpse, as well. I would not have minded leaving him there, but I decided a hero would take him to give him a proper burial. I even muttered some sad apologies and praises for him. The children watched me with respect.

While leading the way, I considered what kind of safety precautions I needed. Hogwarts staff, and Dumbledore in particular, were very unwilling to use Legilimency to find out what had happened. Even I had got away with many wrong-doings in my school years without anyone trying to invade my mental privacy. It was safe to assume that these little heroes would not be interrogated too sharply about what had happened. Anyway, I thought I was too exhausted to cast any more Memory Charms.

We reached the entrance to the Chamber mostly in silence; the only sound was of Ginny sobbing quietly. Now that I had portrayed myself as a hero, the children would probably consent to a few requests.

"Before we return to the school, I will need to ask you to do something for me," I said and turned to face them.

"Of course," Potter and Ron Weasley said, just as Ginny said, "Anything."

"First, I think this Chamber's location should stay hidden. You see, I've been thinking about the whole purpose of this place. According to legend, Salazar Slytherin wanted to purge the school of Muggle-borns and created a monster in here for the purpose. There are a few strange things in this legend. First, why did Slytherin leave the Chamber closed? Why did he want his Heir to do the job instead of doing it himself? Second, Slytherin was supposed to be cunning. Surely he realized that the school would be closed if the students were in danger. A new school would've been established, and the education of Muggle-borns would've continued. The monster wouldn't have succeeded in its quest."

"Well, Slytherin was a deranged madman, wasn't he?" Ron Weasley said, and I had to suppress an urge to hex him.

"Or the legend was told just to hide the true purpose of the Chamber," I continued. "I believe there is more to this Chamber, perhaps some hidden ancient knowledge or artefacts. If the Chamber's location becomes known, a team of curse-breakers will come here and discover everything. Some of those secrets might fall into the wrong hands, even to Voldemort. As you see, this is a matter of great importance."

The children looked at each other before agreeing.

"But what do we tell the professors about what happened here?" Potter asked. "They'll want to know everything, and it would be odd if we declined to speak."

"Well, you could claim that there was some ancient magic at play. The moment you left the Chamber a Memory Charm removed the relevant pieces of information from your minds."

The children agreed to this.

_Actually, I really should muster the strength to Obliviate them_, I thought.

"My second request is more personal," I said. "I don't want you to tell anyone about my involvement in this incident."

"But why? We wouldn't have succeeded without you."

"As I told you, Harry, I was Voldemort's rival when we were at school. I even think he considered me his first enemy. When I banished him from Ginny, he didn't recognize me – I guess the light of the spell work blinded him so that he couldn't see my features clearly. Luckily, he didn't know Ginny was writing to my diary, as he was only interested in what he could do through Ginny, not in her as a person. I believe it will be a great asset for us if Voldemort remains ignorant of my return."

"Surely we can tell Dumbledore about you?" Potter said, just as I had feared.

"No, not even him." I paused for a moment, formulating a plausible excuse. "Dumbledore the person is opposed to Voldemort and he surely would be willing to keep my secret. But Dumbledore the Headmaster is different; he cannot act just as he wishes. You see, if he wants to return to his position in this school, he must explain everything that happened here to the Hogwarts Board of Governors and to the Ministry of Magic. He might even be interrogated under Veritaserum, and then he couldn't keep my secret even if he wanted to." Of course, powerful wizards like Dumbledore certainly had several means of fooling, resisting, and nullifying Veritaserum, but the children did not need to know that. "Eventually the secret would spread and Voldemort would become aware of my return. That must not happen. Do I have your words?"

"What about Hermione?" Ron Weasley asked. "She already knows about your diary, and Harry told her of what you showed him. And she was of great help to us."

"Very well," I said, deciding it to be better to give in a little. "You can tell Hermione, but no one else."

This time the children agreed, and I felt greatly relieved. Potter still had a question.

"And what do we tell about Professor Lockhart?"

"Perhaps we should honour his sacrifice," I said, again acting the role of a hero. "Let him get the credit for banishing Voldemort. It wouldn't be completely untrue, after all. I wouldn't have succeeded without him. If fame is all he ever wanted, he'd probably prefer to be forever remembered as a martyr and a saviour. Let us forgive him the frauds you accused him of, Ron."

After that gracious speech they certainly did not consider me evil for sacrificing his life for my own. Merlin bless the easily manipulated minds of children!

Shortly after that we emerged in the girls' bathroom. Once we out of there, I borrowed Potter's wand (as it was unlikely to get investigated) and Obliviated each of them of the location of the Chamber's entrance, and also of me doing it to them and of my suggestion that they should claim that so had happened. I gave Ginny back her wand, and she returned my diary to me. Then it was time for me to leave and start my investigations of the past fifty years.

"Goodbye," I said as I shook the hands of Harry Potter and Ron Weasley and returned the affectionate embrace by Ginny. "And remember: no word of Tom Riddle to anyone but this Hermione."

"We promise," they said. "Hopefully we will meet again."

"I hope so too," I answered. I certainly wanted to continue manipulating them. "You may try to contact me with an owl. I'll probably be in Diagon Alley, I need a new wand and stuff… so, until our next meeting!"

They left to find a professor. I put my diary to a pocket in my robe and looked around me, eyeing the corridors with fondness. I was home again, and had regained my body. Great opportunities waited for me, I had reason to be happy. I found the statue of the one-eyed witch. The passageway to Honeydukes was still there, and soon I was safely on my way to Hogsmeade and to the larger wizarding world.

I, Lord Voldemort, had returned, without anyone knowing of it.

* * *

Published on the 18th of July, 2019.


	3. Reflection

Chapter 3

REFLECTION

The joyful enthusiasm following my return was somewhat dampened during the long journey through the passageway as I had to crouch all the way. It had clearly been designed for smaller children, or perhaps house-elves. Maybe it had not been designed at all, just built.

While half-crawling in the pitch dark of the tunnel, I had time to wonder the strange feeling that Potter's wand had invoked in me. There was something in the wand that needed to be investigated.

Eventually I arrived in the cellar of Honeydukes with my back aching. I hoped it would have taken longer for me to be reminded of the inconveniences of being a corporeal being. I sneaked upstairs and to the door. A quick _Alohomora _later I was out in Hogsmeade, looking at the village I was almost as fond of as Hogwarts castle itself. Next to nothing had changed in fifty years. The sun would rise shortly, but as sunrise was early in Scotland in late May, there would still be many hours before the village woke up. I decided to use that time planning my next actions.

My situation was challenging – someone would have called it miserable – but I was a resourceful individual. I had no money, I had no wand, I had learned only the theory of Apparition, I had no one who could help me, and I did not even have anything to eat, although draining Lockhart's life-force had granted me a feeling of satiation that had not yet worn off. My strengths were my intelligence, my ruthless determination, my skill of Legilimency (which I had perfected when possessing Ginny), my talent of manipulation and persuasion, my handsome appearance, and my skill of wandless magic. Yes, although I had always been fond of my wand of yew and phoenix feather, I had felt it uncomfortable to be dependent on an object that could be destroyed or lost in some other way. That is why I had practiced wandless magic which art, in fact, I had already discovered when I got my acceptance letter from Hogwarts. That practice now paid off: I had lost my wand.

I found a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ in a wastepaper basket near the Three Broomsticks and began to read. None of the news was particularly sensational, but at least I learned some basic information about the contemporary wizarding Britain, information that was not filtered through an eleven year old girl. The Minister for Magic was one Cornelius Fudge who seemed like the kind of politician who had been placed in power by a much more powerful puppeteer. The newspaper mentioned several members of the Wizengamot, and their families had been represented there in the early 1940s as well. There were also some mentions of the Ministry's department directors, and I recognized most of their names, too. (Actually, some of these notable individuals I had known at school. It should not have been unexpected, but still the sheer absurdity of it came to me as a surprise.) The only thing that had clearly changed during my absence was that the newspaper did not derogate Mudbloods and Squibs like before.

So, to sum it up… my other self had become the most terrible Dark Lord in history, caused a war with the intention of purging the wizarding world of the unworthy, vanished mysteriously after trying to kill Harry Potter… and in the end, the only change was that the public opinion had shifted to regard the unworthy in a friendlier manner. I would have laughed at this unbelievable failure if it had not been my failure. To think that my other self had become one those Dark Lords who had only caused setbacks to their ideological goals was… beyond shameful, it was a personal crisis for me.

I really needed to visit a library and read a detailed book about my other self's reign of terror. This prolonged speculation could drive me crazy. There had to be something, some reason that would explain my other self's astronomical failure. Perhaps Dumbledore had secretly seized power and used it to start a brainwashing campaign.

When the Three Broomsticks opened, I walked in. I was still wearing my Hogwarts robes of a Slytherin prefect which I had stored in the diary along with my soul, and such an outfit might cause suspicion. I could have used my natural charm to make the landlady help me, but I was too impatient. So, instead I cast a subtle wandless Confundus Charm on her, making her believe she had a good reason to help me. She gave me a handful of Floo Powder which I tossed into the fireplace and declared before stepping in,

"Diagon Alley."

A few moments later I walked on the main street of wizarding London, the very place where I had had my first impressions of the magical world I wanted to conquer. Just like in Hogsmeade, little had changed. I looked at the windows of shops and hoped I would be going back to Hogwarts, my home. Some people were already out on their businesses, and I wondered what they would have done had they known that Lord Voldemort walked among them. The thought did not entertain me as much as I had hoped. The name of Voldemort did not mean to them what I had hoped fifty years earlier. A sigh escaped my mouth.

I walked straight into the building that had been on my mind since I had started to plan my return: the library of Diagon Alley, one of the largest outside of Hogwarts and the Ministry of Magic. It was the place I had spent the summer days when I had been forced to return to London; I had spent as much time as possible out of the orphanage. I found the history section and grabbed a book with the promising title of _The Rise and Fall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named_. I sat down, placed the book on a table and began to read with the fervour of someone who was almost reading about his own future.

* * *

I pressed my forehead against the table, for I was utterly desperate. At first, I had been reminding myself that history was always written by the victors and thus the book was bound to be biased against me, but it had not succeeded in encouraging me for long. Even if the author had considered my other self a crazed monster, he probably would not have boldly made stuff up.

The book also informed me of the usually miserable fates of my minions and other acquaintances who I had invested so much time and effort to train and manipulate, and the fates of their offspring. It was horribly nerve-wracking to stumble upon so many familiar names and read the few details that the author had bothered to tell about them.

Edmond Lestrange was dead, and his two sons were in Azkaban. Sebastian Rosier was dead, as was his son. Matthias Mulciber was dead, and his son was in Azkaban. Roger Avery was dead, but his children survived. Of my dormmates only Theodore Nott was still alive and had regained some respect in wizarding Britain. Those not in my year had fared only slightly better. Abraxas Malfoy was dead, but his son was a prominent politician. Adam Jugson was dead, but his son was alive and not in Azkaban. Orion Black was dead, and one of his sons was in Azkaban, the other one dead. Cygnus Black was dead, and one of his daughters was in Azkaban, one had become a blood-traitor, and one was married to Abraxas's son. Augustus Rookwood was in Azkaban. Quentin Travers was in Azkaban. Many, many others either dead or imprisoned. Even those who had survived and avoided imprisonment had lost much social standing.

Almost everyone gone and the favourable positions lost. I felt sick to my stomach, not because I had cared about them as people, but because I had acknowledged their value as lieutenants. The revolution that had been meant to save the pure-blood families and return the supreme power to them had instead all but wiped them from existence. My other self's campaign had not ended in just defeat, but annihilation. No wonder several Death Eaters had renounced my other self. I could not even make myself angry with them. Slytherins did not cling to lost causes.

The evening came, and I had neither eaten nor drunk anything since Lockhart. My hunger and thirst for knowledge had been stronger than their physical counterparts, but as I slammed to book closed and heard my stomach growl, I decided that I had to satisfy also my physical needs. That was anyway something I should have to get used to. I could no longer nourish myself with Ginny's affection.

An old wizard had some trouble in his shop, and I volunteered to help him. After only a few minutes of work and one successful charming, I had earned two Galleons. I bought myself a cheap dinner in a conveniently gloomy tavern on one of the side streets. There I sat, gobbled my food without bothering to be dignified, and thought about what I had read.

My other self had been an idiot – a deranged madman, to quote Ron Weasley. I could have understood it if his war against the Order of the Phoenix and the Ministry of Magic had been a last resort in taking power, but no. There had been no diabolically cunning plots of takeover that had failed for whatever reason. He had just gathered a group of power-hungry Slytherins who hated Muggles and Mudbloods, and then begun an unorganized wave of terrorism with seemingly no other goal than to gradually weaken his enemies. He had claimed he wanted to save the wizardkind from Muggle taint, and yet he had murdered wizards and witches of every blood status. That had certainly alienated many of his sympathizers; for example, the Black family, which was known of its pure-blood mania, and which had once tried to force through a Ministry Bill to make Muggle-hunting legal, had not aligned with him in its entirety. Not even Orion, my minion from a young age, had taken the Dark Mark.

My other self had turned himself into a creepy snake-man – an aberration. Although I was fond of snakes, I was also fond of my handsome looks; it had granted me many benefits. What in Atlantis had been on my other self's mind when he had destroyed such an asset? If he had wanted to be half-snake and half-man, he could have become an Animagus. That had been on my to-do list, but yet there was no mention of Lord Voldemort being an Animagus in the book.

How could he have thought that merging the features of a human and a snake would be a combination better than either of them themselves? I liked both steak and chocolate pudding, but that was no reason to mix them into one single dish. It seemed this small piece of common sense had been lost to my other self.

The only good thing that I had learned from the book was that it was not common knowledge that Lord Voldemort's name had been Tom Riddle; the book did not mention the name at all. That meant Harry Potter and his friends were unlikely to learn my true identity.

When I left the tavern with my physical needs satisfied, I clung to the hope that the book was just a piece of propaganda. Perhaps my other self had been much cleverer, but Dumbledore had somehow learned of his plans and executed them for his own benefit. Then he had produced vast amounts of stories about my other self's stupidity and made the public believe them. If that was the case, there had to be a quiet opposition that secretly distributed the suppressed truth. Such an opposition probably resided in Knockturn Alley.

I walked to the street of Dark wizards and witches. It was as I remembered it. At least Dumbledore's power was not so absolute that he could have eradicated this small sanctuary of the Dark Arts. Many of the shops were closing for the day, but I intruded a book shop and Confunded the angry shopkeeper.

I skimmed the shelves and found a booklet with the title _13 Reasons Why the Dark Lord Was Misunderstood_. I did not read it as thoroughly as the much more professional book about my other self. I did not need to. I quickly realized what kind of publication it was: a clumsy, frantic defence for a ludicrous political crusade that had failed because of its own folly.

Reading it was even more horrible than reading the book had been. I wanted to scream. If I had had a wand with which to reliably Obliviate the shopkeeper afterwards, I would have thrown the booklet in his face, or perhaps forced him to eat it. I stormed out of the shop, seething with rage.

The booklet had confirmed many of the details in the book, but that had not been the worst part. It appeared my other self had not just thrown his own potential to the wind. He had also dragged the House of Slytherin to ruin. Because of him those magical people with Dark tendencies considered a crazy, reckless, and impulsive snake-man as their role model. That was just a twisted caricature of my great vision. He had not surrounded himself with insightful advisors, but mindless sycophants. House of Slytherin no longer produced cunning masterminds who sated their ambitions through flexible and adaptive plans and who just enjoyed most of the challenges they faced. It produced blunt thugs who wanted to get their way as quickly and easily as possible, and threw a temper tantrum if they did not. Slytherins had just become Dark Gryffindors!

It was a good thing Salazar had not left a ghost behind. It would have wanted to commit suicide, but could have never succeeded in it.

I went to the Leaky Cauldron, nearly bursting with accidental curses, so severe was my state of bad mood. I rented a room with what money I had left and went to bed. Although I had been active ever since breaking free from the diary some twenty hours earlier, sleep did not come to me easily. I lay awake, wondering what had gone wrong.

Well, it was not difficult to find the most probable reason; more difficult was to admit it to myself. My other self had gone on making more Horcruxes, sticking to my early ideal of a seven-part soul. It seemed every time a soul was torn, the more sensible part had been the one to be placed in the object. My other self had descended further into madness with every Horcrux he had made. When he had started his conquest, nothing had been left of my brilliant cunning. And so his plan had been to simply force the entire wizarding Britain to submission. The Heir of Slytherin had been satisfied with the most Gryffindorish plan imaginable – unveiled, witless bravado.

Was that the reason some people became Gryffindors in the first place? That they had small, damaged souls?

The book from which I had learned of Horcruxes had warned that the side effects included insanity. I had just scoffed at the warning, deciding it was there just to scare weak-willed Hufflepuffs from seeking immortality. If the book had explicitly told that making Horcruxes turned people into Gryffindors, I would have decided to make only one.

Lord Voldemort – that was the great name I had fashioned for myself. I had wanted to show that I was not happy with using a name – a common, filthy Muggle name – that someone else had given me. The purpose of the name had been to highlight my individuality and my independence. But now the thought of that name filled me with sadness and bitterness, the horrible feeling of wasted potential.

My own great name had been contaminated with associations of insanity and idiocy.

It was my name no longer.

It was time for a new beginning.

* * *

Published on the 26th of July, 2019.


	4. Voyage of Discovery

Chapter 4

VOYAGE OF DISCOVERY

When I woke up on the 31st of May, 1993, I felt miserable. I tried to tell myself that I should have been happy, that I had returned to life just the day before. I had not done it to feel this way. Would I have preferred to stay hibernating in the diary, perhaps for all eternity? Of course not.

Still, I could not escape the question that kept popping in my mind:

_Who am I?_

That question had haunted me when I had lived in the Muggle orphanage. I had known myself to be special, that I had been far above the other orphans. Then I had discovered that I was a wizard and learned of another world that would one day be mine. That had helped me to create my own identity, a personal quest I had continued at Hogwarts. I had tried to find about my parents, but eventually I had had to accept the horrible and disgusting fact that my father, after whom I had been named, had been a Muggle. The research about my mother's side had produced much more satisfying revelations. I was related to the ancient Gaunt family who were descendants of Slytherin. Although this fact had made me proud of my lineage, it had also filled me with loathing; Slytherin's blood had been tainted with Muggle blood! It was a secret I would never share with anyone.

The result of this quest for self-discovery had been the creation of my own identity, Lord Voldemort. For the first time in my life, I had been content with the question of who I was. I had continued to another crucial quest, that of achieving immortality. I had created a Horcrux, got trapped within it, and returned fifty years later to find out that my other self had destroyed the achievement of my quest for self-discovery.

Again, I did not know who I was. All I knew was that everything had been foiled by my other self… no, I no longer accepted Lord Voldemort as "my other self." He was just a perverted shadow of me, an insult, a kind of a mirror-image, one that had turned all of my virtues to their opposites.

I ate my breakfast at the Leaky Cauldron's restaurant. There were some other guests there and some of them looked as if they had liked to sit at the same table as the handsome young man. However, my expression was so sour and annoyed that they kept their distance.

I wanted to find what was left of Lord Voldemort and cast the Cruciatus Curse on him. Since that was not possible for the moment, I decided to march into the Muggle world and torment some of those sorry excuses for human beings who threatened the wizardkind with their sheer numbers. Tormenting Muggles was a great stress-reliever, which fact I had found out already before I knew I was a wizard.

I slammed the Leaky Cauldron's front door open, took a few steps… and was rooted on the place.

The Muggle world had changed. A lot.

The perpetual smog that I had hated about London was almost completely gone. The number of cars in the street had increased to a staggering quantity, and they were quieter and looked more sophisticated. People did not look as distressed as during the Second World War. They looked wealthier and healthier, and some of them were speaking in telephones they carried with them!

My anger dissipated and was replaced with astonishment. I looked around me, taking notice of the inferior Muggle world for the first time in fifty-five years. After I had got my acceptance letter to Hogwarts in the summer of 1938 I had been totally absorbed in the new magical world. But before that I had been to a Muggle school and had wandered in the Muggle London, and so I had some knowledge of the Muggle way of life. Back then I had not thought about it in such a systematic and analytical way as I did that day. It was an experience… I hated to admit it, but it was almost as great an experience as my first encounter with the magical world.

A word came to my mind, slowly. _Progress_. It was among those words I had learned during my years in the Muggle world but had never needed to use in the wizarding world. The magical people did not understand the concept of progress. To them, the world was stagnant. Hogwarts operated in exactly the same way as in its first years, as did the Wizengamot and the Ministry. As I had observed, Hogsmeade, Diagon Alley, and Knockturn Alley were just as they had been fifty years earlier. New ways of magic were not discovered; even the greatest magical researchers just invented slightly different applications of universally known magical axioms. Knowledge was being lost and some of it was rediscovered with a huge fuss. That was all.

The Muggle world was different. They really had made progress, their world did not stay the same, they were heading somewhere… that much was obvious.

I might not like Muggles or their way of life, but I was not someone who disregarded a possible opportunity to learn new powers that could be used to achieve my ambitions. If there was something to be learned from Muggles, then so be it. I would never let anyone control any power I lacked, that was the founding principle of… whoever I was.

When walking down the street I spotted a man who was waiting for someone and reading a newspaper. I Confunded him, stole the paper, and began to read. There was much in there I did not understand at all, especially in the advertisements. Strange devices of all kinds, designed for strange Muggle purposes. I needed to find out about them since it was possible I could make use of them myself. All wizards hungered for magical artefacts, but if the same qualities could be achieved without magic, that had to be an improvement.

Soon I came across a shop which had on display some of the devices I had wondered about. I stepped in and used Legilimency on the salesgirl. That was a much faster way of learning the basics of the devices than asking and listening.

What I learned was impressive. As I already had witnessed, Muggles had invented telephones that could be carried around. They had upgraded the radio to a television, which also showed a film. They had replaced the abacus with a machine called a calculator which had no brains, no soul, and no magic, but still knew most of the non-magical stuff that I had learned in three years in Arithmancy. Even more impressive was the computer which had superseded the tabulating machine; it could be used to organize and process at least a bookshelf's worth of information, and more and more each year. It must have been tremendously high-level technology, since the salesgirl did not understand its basics at all; she just knew how to use it. Computers had something to do with a new thing called the Internet, an ethereal yet totally non-magical connection which could be used to share information with anyone with an access to the connection.

Who could have guessed? Muggles had discovered their own kind of magic that did not rely on wands, potions, runes, magical plants and creatures, or the purity of blood. It was worrisome, to be honest. In the Slytherin social circles where I had gained influence Muggles were depicted as mindless peasants who just wanted to kill magical people. I should have realized that the notion had been at least a few hundred years out of date, but back then I had had no trouble accepting it along with all the other pure-blood supremacist judgements.

Was it possible that the wizardkind despised Muggles so much that they did not even notice how the mindless peasants had created noteworthy substitutes for magic? Could these substitutes be used to advance to a much higher level than the one the wizardkind had reached? After all, the wizarding world was stagnant while the Muggle world progressed. What even more impressive devices could Muggles come up with in the next fifty years? Or in a thousand years, for that matter? That would be my problem since I was determined to be immortal.

Again, I felt the irresistible hunger for knowledge. Unlike the day before, it inspired me instead of solely filling me with a variety of negative emotions.

The salesgirl's knowledge was insufficient for my taste. I sought out the nearest Muggle school and intruded a physics lesson. Again, I used Legilimency, this time on the teacher, and began to scan through his mind in search of other spectacular achievements and magic substitutes.

Muggles had visited the Moon?! And they had sent several non-magical probes to the space, either to orbit other planets or entirely out of the Solar System. Plans of colonizing other worlds within the next century were not considered lunatic ramblings.

By Nicolas Flamel's notebook… Muggles had even discovered their own version of the Philosopher's Stone, a thing called nuclear power which transformed an otherwise useless metal called uranium into astounding amounts of energy. Although it did not produce the Elixir of Life, it had a very destructive use: a bomb that could destroy an entire city with a single blast. Two such bombs had been used in warfare, just two years after I had been trapped in the diary. That was a power of such a level that not even the most powerful Dark Lord had achieved it.

Wizards really should update their threat-estimate of Muggles. A slow tainting of magical blood was next to nothing compared to being marginalized through the ever-accelerating development of science and technology.

These magic substitutes were awe-inspiring, really. In a way, they reminded me of wandless magic. A wizard without a wand might be able to use some bits of magic, although clumsily and unreliably. At first, it was as difficult as writing with one's toes. Still, one could learn those skills through practice and patience. I had always been proud of the fact that I had learned wandless magic without being taught and even more proud that it had happened before I even knew I was a wizard. I had used what means I had at the time and reached a certain level on my own.

Well, Muggles had done the same, had they not? They had no magic, but they knew what they wanted, and just kept trying until they invented the means of doing it all with what means they had. They were like… me. Or perhaps… I was like them. Admittedly, this had been going on longer than I had been around. Had I subconsciously imitated my precocious ingenuity from Muggles? Was my upbringing in the Muggle world actually a blessing?

The next place I visited was a Muggle library where I started to read a book of the history of science. It caused me several distasteful surprises. Apparently, some Muggle inventions had been slowly creeping into the wizarding world without anyone taking notice. Train, like the Hogwarts Express, was a Muggle invention, as were also the printing press, the clock, the camera, and such a convenient everyday thing as plumbing. I did not even want to know how sanitation at Hogwarts had been arranged before someone had condescended to build an extensive Muggle thing to ease things up. Even the pure-blood maniacs had accepted these things to ease their daily lives. The fact that these inventions had spread over the wide cultural gap was unsettling. It was like a quiet admittance that Muggles had done some things better than the wizardkind.

I had always thought that there were five types of humans: Slytherins, Ravenclaws, Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and Muggles. I had thought Muggles to be like non-magical mixtures of the worst traits of Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs. When studying the miracles of the Muggle world I realized that I had greatly misjudged the Muggles. Of course there were Muggles of the personality types of all of Hogwarts' Houses. There were Slytherin and Ravenclaw Muggles who had created these stupendous technologies. They deserved my respect much more than most wizards did. I should judge Muggles as individuals, just as I judged wizards. Was it by any chance possible that my father had been a scientist? If so, I could even be proud of him.

I felt myself troubled. These two days had both shaken the foundations of what was me. Perhaps I had received too much new information in this very short a time. I could not help it that my view of Muggles was under change.

That realization made me wonder, where exactly did my biased view of Muggles originate. It was not a difficult question to answer. I had not enjoyed my time in the Muggle orphanage, and that had caused certain distaste towards Muggles in general. The other thing was that I had accepted the opinions about Muggles of my Slytherin housemates as my own without question. That was actually very uncharacteristic for me. Was I not supposed to be the independent and individual one who did not let other people decide anything for me?

So, this view-changing exploration trip to the Muggle world was not actually something that shook my foundations. On the contrary; I had finally started to act as I saw fit for me. When pursuing power to achieve my ambitions I should not and would not be narrow-minded. Dumbledore and his Muggle-loving underlings should not have the sole access to these impressive Muggle creations.

And then there was the question of why so many pure-blood Slytherin aristocrats had this biased view of Muggles? A theory formed in my mind. Perhaps they had feared Muggles more than they had wanted to admit, and that fear and the frustrating knowledge that they could not have done anything about it had manifested as belittling stories about Muggles. They had tried to convince each other and themselves too that Muggles were little more than beasts so that they would not have needed to fear so much. Then a new generation had born and it had accepted these stories and false views as truths.

If this theory was true, it was a great shame for the House of Slytherin. A potentially decisive threat was rising, but those who were aware of it had created a daydream that the threat did not actually exist, and then the threat had been forgotten. What if the whole wizardkind was destroyed because those Slytherins who knew of the threat made themselves believe their daydreams instead? Unacceptable!

Slytherins should have been better than that. Unfortunately, the House of Slytherin of the 1990s was but a shadow of its former glory, thanks to one Lord Voldemort, my once other self. That deranged madman had claimed he wanted to save the wizardkind from Muggles, but had only succeeded in ruining the cunning and ambitious House which should have understood the rising menace and prepared to counter it.

Had Voldemort actually aimed to the destruction of the wizardkind? Whether or not that had been a deliberate goal, he was a much greater inner threat than the naive, idealistic Dumbledore had ever been.

For the first time, I understood what had motivated Grindelwald. During his reign of terror, most Slytherins had considered him an obnoxious upstart, just another kind of the blood traitors who wanted the magical and Muggle civilizations to unite. But now I understood that the aristocratic status quo, the magical _Ancien Régime_, was not good for the wizardkind in the long run.

Something had to be done. The obvious first step in saving the wizarding world was to restore the House of Slytherin from the ruin Voldemort had caused. And who should be the one to do it, if not me? That meant I would have to return to Hogwarts, which I would do with pleasure.

When I had found out about Voldemort's influence on the House of Slytherin, I had thought to myself: real Slytherins just enjoyed most of the challenges they faced. Perhaps I should consider this new quest as a challenge and just enjoy the difficulties it offered me. I would not get my way as quickly and easily as possible, but I would not throw a temper tantrum because of it. I was no Voldemort.

And luckily the threat was not immediate. Muggles were still far behind the wizardkind in many ways, especially transportation, mind reading and control, healing, and invisibility. Before they created substitutes for these magics, they were at a severe disadvantage should a war ever break out between the civilizations. Also, they were unaware of our existence.

This was a new purpose for me. I had woken up wondering, who I was. It had not taken long before I had found an answer.

I was the restorer of the House of Slytherin, the Heir of Salazar himself.

I would be the saviour of the wizardkind.

And, eventually, an immortal half-blood ruler of both the wizarding _and_ Muggle worlds!

* * *

Published on the 4th of August, 2019.


	5. Arrangements

Chapter 5

ARRANGEMENTS

I was aware of the fact that the Ministry's Department of Magical Law Enforcement was secretly guarding the Muggle Prime Minister and probably hundreds if not thousands of other influential Muggles. Otherwise it would have been ridiculously easy for any Dark wizard to gain power by placing a few Imperius Curses.

The Ministry's resources were limited, however, and so it could not get involved in most of the mischief that unscrupulous wizards like me caused in the Muggle world. That was why I was not overly nervous when stepping into a Muggle bank office somewhere in London. It took me just two minutes to Confund the clerks and leave with a million pounds sterling stuffed in a briefcase.

I had always wondered why there were poor magical families. The only reason I could come up with was that only a quarter of the population were Slytherins. Most wizards who meddled with the Muggle world just created funny but useless stuff like carnivorous toilet seats or vomiting tea pots. They were too creative to understand that Muggles could be turned into a gold mine without the Ministry noticing.

As I walked back towards the Leaky Cauldron, I had time to ponder some political philosophy.

There were two kinds of lords: those who cared for the well-being of their subjects, and those who just wanted to be on top of the hierarchy and enjoy their feeling of power. The first kind had at least two possible reasons for caring: either they considered the well-being of subjects as a goal as such, or they wanted their subjects to be better fighters, taxpayers, entertainers or whatever.

I was never a particularly sociable person. I had not considered the members of my Hogwarts gang as friends, nor had I truly cared about Ginny despite her endless flattering. Mrs Cole, the matron of the Muggle orphanage, had once called me a psychopath. So, what kind of lord would I be?

Certainly not the Dumbledore type who considered the well-being of subjects as a goal as such. Why then would I care about such things as the blood status of my subjects? The common Slytherin ideology of preserving pure magical bloodlines was based on care for the well-being of future magical generations. The pure-blood aristocrats wanted their descendants to have magical power, a wondrous privilege of the few. Although the tolerant and compassionate Gryffindors depicted Slytherins as cold, selfish, and uncaring, that was not true. Gryffindors were hypocritical, they just wanted to be free to marry anyone they wished, and were totally unconcerned about the possibility that their descendants might not be able to use the magical powers their ancestors could. That is what I call selfish and uncaring.

I was not like most Slytherins. I did not care about my descendants, if I ever even had one, because I knew the horrible truth. The only thing that gave anything any meaning was my own self. If I did not exist, there would be no meaning. If I died one day, the universe would become meaningless. I was the only window from my consciousness to the universe, and if that window ceased to exist, the entire universe could just as well cease to exist. I could not deceive myself to believe that any meaning could come from other people than me. There were those fools who called my worldview cynical, but I knew it was simply realistic.

I had to become immortal. And if I achieved immortality, my magic would be preserved forever. Why would I care if the tainting of magical blood rid everyone else of their powers? It would actually be of my benefit if I alone commanded such power. I could not simply enter the Palace of Westminster and Imperius all of the Muggle politicians there because then the Ministry would stop me. Of course it would be better if I had no such constraints.

What had Voldemort thought about these things? Probably nothing. He had accepted the pure-blood supremacist ideals as his own, without ever wondering whether or not they made any sense in his personal circumstances. That was how had born a Dark Lord who cared nothing of anyone but himself but still advocated an extreme version of a policy that was based on genuine care for future generations.

It was inconceivable. Voldemort seemed like a poorly made-up novel character, an implausible mixture of contradictory villain traits.

As I trudged down Diagon Alley towards Gringotts I thought about the Mudblood Hogwarts students who I had commanded the Basilisk to petrify. Why had I bothered?

I stepped in front of a counter in Gringotts, tossed the briefcase on it, and said to the Goblin on the other side,

"I'd like to exchange this Muggle money to Galleons."

"Quite an amount of money," the Goblin observed, watching me with suspecting eyes.

"I won them in a lottery," I lied easily.

The Goblin stared at me for a moment. I stared back, looking calm and slightly bored. Apparently the Goblin decided that no one in his right mind could come up with such a ridiculous lie, and began to check the stacks of banknotes with a magical sensor. They were counted and stated not to be forged, and before long the exchange to Galleons began. I would need to open a vault of my own, but until then I carried the Galleons in a wallet of which insides were magically enlarged and contents charmed weightless.

I had known the Goblins were not interested in investigating my suspicious money exchange. They were devious and ruthless people who minded mainly their own business and probably participated in many criminal activities such as smuggling and engaging in black market sales. That was a part of their resentful low-intensity warfare against the wizards who did not allow them to own wands. Also, they charged quite a lot for money exchange, and so it was not in their best interests to complain.

Goblins were Slytherins through and through. I actually highly respected them.

It had taken me less than two days to become one of the richest people in wizarding Britain although I had started absolutely Knutless. It was time to arrange many things. I needed a place to live, a new wand and other wizard's accessories, some way to change my looks so that Dumbledore would not recognize me, recognition by the Ministry that I was a wizard who lived in Britain, private tuition in Apparition, and of course a new name.

The Leaky Cauldron would suffice for the moment. Before I could get recognition by the Ministry I needed a name. It would have to be one that would not make Dumbledore suspect it was I – Duke Moldevort would not do.

"You received a letter, young sir."

"Huh?" I was pulled from my thoughts by the innkeeper of the Leaky Cauldron, Tom. I did not fully register his words as I looked at him and recalled the day almost fifty-five years earlier when I had first entered the wizarding world.

Tom. That was a name Dumbledore would _never_ suspect me of using, he knew how I had loathed it. But since I had learned to respect the Muggles in a new and strange way, I found that I did not dislike the name so much anymore. I had declared the Muggle world my property and had almost been happy that I had lineage in both of the worlds.

Tom was my new old name. It was who I was.

Then my namesake's words became understood in my mind. I had received a letter. Probably from my new minions who were under the impression I had banished Voldemort and saved an innocent girl. I took the envelope, rented my room again, and locked myself within it to read.

I tore the envelope open and realized that the letter was not the only content. There was a wand too, elegant and expensive-looking. Intriguing. I had worried about the visit to Ollivanders as the ancient man was said to have an unlimited memory. He could have informed Dumbledore of Tom Riddle's look-alike purchasing a new wand.

Interested, I began reading the letter.

_Dear Tom,_

_Thank you again for your help in the Chamber. Although there was a celebration in our honour, we know that you are the real hero of Hogwarts._

_We did as you requested. The Chamber's location remains hidden, and we actually would have been unable to tell anyone about it even if we wanted to. We think there was a Memory Charm that removed the knowledge of the entrance's location from our minds. Also, Professor Lockhart got the credit for banishing Voldemort. They are even planning of posthumously granting him the Order of Merlin's First Class Award. That is something you should be awarded with!_

_Dumbledore has returned to the position of Headmaster and Lucius Malfoy was thrown off the Board of Governors. Draco has been delightfully humble ever since._

_Ron and I were awarded for Special Services to the School just like you fifty years ago. We also got two hundred House points for Gryffindor – each of us! We are bound to win the House Cup!_

_You mentioned you needed a new wand. We decided to send you the wand that belonged to Professor Lockhart. I disarmed him before we entered the Chamber and Ron threw the wand out of the window. Luckily nobody found it from the school grounds before us._

_We all look forward to meeting you during the summer holidays._

_Ron, Hermione, and Ginny send you their regards._

_Your friend,_

_Harry Potter_

Four hundred House points for Gryffindor and a certain victory in the House Cup championship? Was that supposed to make me happy? For a moment I regretted not letting the Basilisk eat Potter and the two Weasleys when I had the chance.

Well, perhaps it was beneath my dignity to care about such things as the House Cup anymore. In fact, a knockout defeat for Slytherin might make the members of my ruined House understand that something had gone wrong with them. I needed their pride in their House broken before a reform could gain popular support. Yes, perhaps Dumbledore's clear favouritism was for the best.

Right, I had got a wand thanks to my talent in manipulation. That would help me in changing my looks. I stepped in front of a mirror and looked at my image. Then, I pointed my new wand to certain parts of my face and began incanting.

It was a good thing I had early on practiced charms that criminals used to disguise themselves. I had known they would be of much use to someone like me.

I turned my eye colour to greyish blue. That small thing did a lot; it gave me a much brighter look. Next I turned my hair colour to light brown. My elegant porcelain pale complexion had to give way for a rosier one. Then just a few changes to my eyebrows, nose, and chin, and Dumbledore would not know it was me. I could still recognize myself, and Potter and his friends would probably too. Dumbledore might briefly pay attention to my resemblance to Tom Riddle, but since he had no reason to suspect my return, he would not make any ominous conclusions; he was, after all, an optimist from top to toe. Also, most wizards and witches had some resemblance to others, thanks to centuries of breeding within a small population. Dumbledore probably saw dozens of familiar resemblances every day, and that would desensitize anyone. My case would be nothing out of the ordinary.

Even if Dumbledore considered me being me, he would most likely come to the conclusion that I would have disguised myself much better than I had. I would be kind of hiding in plain sight.

These charms I would have to cast every day the same way, and so I studied my face for a long time, memorizing every detail.

My voice could also betray me. Unfortunately, voice distortion charms were much more unreliable than disguising charms, and so it was better to practice sounding different without magic. It could not be too difficult; voice actors did it all the time.

* * *

I still needed a fitting surname. After failing in coming up with one on my own, I visited the library again and began to read through lists of British wizard families. The problem was that I could not claim to be a member of one of them as that would have resulted in suspicion and investigations. The Gaunt family had been extinct, but was out of the question because of the connection to the identity I was trying to disguise. If I could have chosen my name totally according to my preference, I would have chosen the name Salazar Slytherin II. However, that would have met with indignation even if I had demonstrated my skill of Parseltongue. Not to mention that I would have been suspected of the recent incidents at Hogwarts.

So I had to search for a name elsewhere. Eventually I went to a Muggle bookshop and took a random book from the section of foreign-language fantasy books for children, opened a random page, and read the name _Valedro_.

_Valedro? _There was something fascinating about it. I could imagine my surname being Valedro. It was enigmatic and mysterious… like a riddle of some kind.

_Tom Valedro_. It was good enough. I did not bother to continue this quite trivial search any further. An official name was of little consequence to someone like me.

* * *

The next day I visited the Ministry of Magic's Department of International Magical Cooperation. I had claimed in my request letter that I had moved to Britain from New Zealand where the Valedro family had supposedly lived for a few generations. Becoming a citizen of wizarding Britain was ridiculously easy after I donated several hundred Galleons to the Ministry. After that I visited the Department of Magical Education where I requested to be accepted to Hogwarts. Then I had to visit the Wizarding Examinations Authority where I arranged to take the Ordinary Wizarding Level tests. That way I could continue my education from where it had been discontinued fifty years earlier. I signed up to all of the tests, even Muggle Studies.

When all of that was arranged, I contacted the Kwikspell Company for a course in Apparition. I was not going to wait for the course that Hogwarts offered the sixth-year students.

* * *

In the evening I entered my new home, Château de Valedro. It was located in Diagon Alley, almost next to Gringotts, and the purchase had been arranged when I had been running errands in the Ministry. Inside, I was greeted by the house-elf I had agreed to employ. He had been fired very recently, and I wondered if the previous owner had considered him too Slytherin. The elf demanded compensation for his services! At first, I had been indignant about his greed and arrogance, but then I had realized that I did not want a meek Hufflepuff busying around me. And, I could well afford to pay him one Galleon a month.

The rooms of my new home were still empty; the house-elf had not yet had the time to obtain furniture except for a temporary bed, table, and chair. I instructed him to fill the rooms with furniture, paintings, sculptures, and other requisite that reminded me of Hogwarts, for I wanted to feel home in this place.

When the elf went on his business I sat down, placed some parchment on the table, and began to write a response to my minions at Hogwarts.

_Dear friends,_

_I am pleased things out there ended up well. Thank you for sending me Professor Lockhart's wand, it was very considerate of you to remember I lacked one._

_I have used these days arranging my new life. My new name that I ask you to use from now on is Tom Valedro. You may wonder why I chose not to change my first name. I thought that continuing to use it would confuse Voldemort more than any other name would. After all, no one would be so stupid that he would change only a part of his name when concealing his identity._

_When visiting Gringotts I found out that one of my distant relatives had died without an heir. I proved my true identity to the Goblins (who have sworn not to spread the information) and inherited a fair amount of gold. That way I was in a financial trouble only for a very short time._

_When you return to Hogwarts for your next term, I will be coming with you. My education is not yet finished, and I arranged everything with the Ministry. My official back story is that my family lived in New Zealand, but I decided to come to Britain to complete my education in the greatest magical school in the world._

_My new home is in Diagon Alley. You are welcome to visit me during the holidays. I have employed a house-elf called Dobby to help me. He is quite a special individual. I have never before even heard of a house-elf who demands a Galleon and one day off each month. These compensations I grant him gladly, for I am not fond of slavery._

_Your friend,_

_Tom Valedro_

I was proud of the fact that I could use almost anything for my benefit. Perhaps I had used slightly too many words telling them about Dobby, but I really wanted to grasp this opportunity to display my fake gracious nature.

Tom Valedro, who banished Voldemort, who saved a young girl from death, and who even acts kindly towards house-elves. That was just the kind of hero from fairy tales who could gain the support of the Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw factions of the nation. And once they realized what kind of lord I truly was, it would be far too late for them.

* * *

Published on the 12th of August, 2019.


	6. Avenues to Power

Chapter 6

AVENUES TO POWER

Potter and his friends kept me well informed about everything that happened at Hogwarts. Among the things they told me was one that made me feel I had narrowly escaped a possible disaster. In his second letter to me Potter told me that he knew my house-elf, Dobby. The elf's previous owner had been Lucius Malfoy himself, son of Abraxas, whom Potter had tricked into freeing Dobby by giving the man a sock that he had thrown away so that Dobby had managed to catch it. Malfoy had been actively trying to use the Chamber of Secrets incident to flush Dumbledore from Hogwarts, but what was strange was how Dobby had warned Potter of "terrible things happening at Hogwarts" before anything had happened.

Immediately after reading Potter's letter I summoned Dobby and began to interrogate him. It turned out Lucius Malfoy had been responsible for my diary ending up with Ginny. Dobby had overheard his master plotting to get rid of Dumbledore and to disgrace Arthur Weasley through his daughter. The elf knew that some inconspicuous little book given by Voldemort himself had been involved. Had Dobby ever told Potter these things, I would have got into a deep trouble.

Well, fortune had been on my side. I began altering Dobby's memories to fit the story I had fabricated. When it was done, I smiled with grim satisfaction. One more threat averted.

Now the only others who knew the truth about the reopening of the Chamber of Secrets were Lucius Malfoy and whoever he had plotted with when Dobby had overheard them, possibly his wife. However, they were unlikely ever to tell Dumbledore the truth. The House of Malfoy had been on Voldemort's side during the war, but afterwards Lucius Malfoy had claimed he had been under the Imperius Curse. Ever since he had been leading the largest political faction in wizarding Britain, that of the blood purist aristocrats. However, Dumbledore had united several smaller factions behind him, and that had made Malfoy the leader of the opposition. The public considered Dumbledore the real leader of wizarding Britain and either admired or resented his decision to pull the strings behind the formal Minister for Magic. The opposition used its superior financial assets to bribe Minister Fudge not to advance the reforms proposed by Dumbledore's coalition, and that had caused a political stalemate.

What was the truth about Malfoy's allegiance? If he had not supported Voldemort willingly, he might be one of the few who might understand the ruin that had befallen the House of Slytherin. However, since Voldemort had given him a Horcrux for safekeeping, the story about being Imperiused was most likely a lie. Still, I decided it would be best if I got acquainted with his son. Draco Malfoy certainly had high prestige among the Slytherin students of Hogwarts, and that made him the first I had to convince to support a reform.

While the Hogwarts term was soon closing, I continued my education in London. Training under a private teacher of the Kwikspell Company was actually much more gratifying than studying at Hogwarts had been. I had been by far the most talented student at Hogwarts in my time, and the other students had always slowed me down. With the Kwikspell teachers I was able to advance at my full speed. Also, they knew many clever tricks and shortcuts of performing magic that most of Hogwarts' teachers had not bothered to teach to the dim-witted masses. What was equally appealing was that the Company taught subjects that were not in Hogwarts' curriculum, namely Alchemy, Wandlore, Battle Magic, Spell-Crafting, and my favourite, the Dark Arts.

My first days in the training were quite full of Destination, Determination, and Deliberation. I had learned the theory by heart as early as in my first Hogwarts year and determination I had always had in abundance. It did not take long before I was able to move in an instant with sufficient skill. I got my Apparition licence from the Ministry (I had lied about my age), and continued on to my next task: becoming an Animagus. That would take time, and even more Determination and Deliberation, and I was prepared not to be ready in months.

I also read through some Hogwarts textbooks in preparation for my new Ordinary Wizarding Level tests. I had been trapped in my diary just after I had completed them in 1943, and much of what I had practiced for them was still fresh in my mind. The new tests took place in the Ministry, and I was somewhat shocked to see that I would be tested by none other than Griselda Marchbanks, just as fifty years earlier. She was one of the many who I had dumbfounded with my natural genius for magic, but now I decided not to show off. The frustrating part of fooling Dumbledore about my identity was that I had to play the role of not such a spectacular person but a rather ordinary one. Still, I was certain I completed all twelve tests with an Outstanding grade. I simply could not stoop lower than that.

The Muggle Studies test had been a ridiculous one. Apparently even most Muggle-loving wizards were largely ignorant about the most impressive magic substitutes. To them the Muggle world was just an inexhaustible source of strange and interesting requisite. Ginny's father collected Muggle things like electronics, but he just played with them instead of trying to understand how they worked and what they were really capable of. His attitude towards Muggles was in a way just as scornful as that of the blood purists'. To him, Muggles were not people, but pets.

I continued my excursions to the Muggle world in my quest of learning useful skills. Many days I spent in university classrooms, scanning the lecturers' minds instead of listening to what they said. After a few days I found my favourite scientist, an Oxford professor of biochemistry, one Michael Verres. He had extensive knowledge of many branches of science, not just his own, and I liked his way of thinking: he knew and used the methods of rationality. I returned to read his mind now and then, and learned much that could in some imaginable circumstances be of use to me. He was a Muggle with the virtues of Ravenclaw.

I also did what little I could to ensure my survival. I had purchased a bullet-proof vest, reinforced it with the Unbreakable Charm and numerous automatically activating Shield Charms, and I wore it all the time. In my pocket I carried a bezoar to swallow in case of being poisoned, and bottles of Essence of Dittany and Blood Replenishing Potion in case of being injured. I had also acquired a few firearms just in case.

* * *

"Congratulations, Mr Valedro," Madam Marchbanks said. "You passed all twelve of your Ordinary Wizarding Level tests with an Outstanding grade. I have to admit that I have never heard of the Private Wizarding Academy of New Zealand before, but clearly you have received an impressive education."

"Thank you, Madam," I answered. "The Academy is one of those who operate in secrecy. Personally, I don't see much sense in that policy."

The world was full of small, secret magic schools, which was why I had not considered it risky to claim I had been educated in a non-existent one.

"I am sure Headmaster Dumbledore is happy to see you finishing your education at Hogwarts. A wizard of your talent and international connections will be welcomed to the service of the Ministry once you graduate. Some people have already expressed their interest to meet you."

It turned out that Professor Slughorn's club for talented and well-connected students and alumni had produced three generations of elite in wizarding Britain. Although Slughorn had retired from Hogwarts, the extensive web of connections he had created had continued to grow and increase the influence of its members. Since new Hogwarts students no longer joined in, many of its members had tried to take Slughorn's role and begun to invite new talented young people to join. People like Cornelius Fudge, Bartemius Crouch, and Lucius Malfoy were all members of this elite class, and they had created an almost impenetrable barrier around them that prevented people like Arthur Weasley from getting promoted.

And once they had heard of my twelve Outstanding OWLs, they had decided to give me an opportunity to become a member of their ruling class. I briefly contemplated what would have been my situation that very moment had I decided to pursue a Philosopher's Stone instead of making Horcruxes and chosen to gain power the subtle way. Ah, well, it was never too late to start a new plan.

I met with two Ministry officials who had been members of the Slug Club and discussed with them for an hour, feigning moderate interest towards what they told me about working in the Ministry. Although I would never have even considered a Ministry career, it would not hurt to make an acquaintance with someone with inside information.

I would not spend my summer as an intern in the Ministry. Great wizards gained power through their magic and the magic of their allies, not formal status. Dumbledore held the most power in Britain simply because he could subdue the Ministry if he wanted to. That was my path as well, and so I continued my studies in the Kwikspell Company. Dumbledore was a century ahead of me. I had much to catch up.

Strangely few wizards understood that graduating from Hogwarts did not mean you were ready as a wielder of magic. That certainly had not been the idea of the Founders. Back then graduates had continued as apprentices to older wizards until they really knew the art of a wizard. There had not been separate magical and Muggle societies then. Wizards had ruled over the Muggles using kings, priests, and noblemen as puppets. Those were the good old times I was intending to bring back. I would be the new Merlin who stood in the shadows behind the throne, letting others attract assassins and busy themselves with dull parchmentwork.

The founding of Hogwarts had been a revolutionary change in the training of young wizards, but in the long run it had caused a decline. Once the International Statute of Secrecy had forced wizards to withdraw from ruling Muggles, the culture of a mentor and apprentice after an education at Hogwarts had almost completely died out. Wizards had had nothing left to do, except the boring everyday things they had earlier forced Muggles to do for them. As there had been little to achieve anymore, fewer and fewer wizards had bothered to learn anything after graduating.

There was no wizarding equivalent for a university. The closest thing were private companies like the Kwikspell or the Ministry's training programmes for Aurors and Healers, and possibly the top-secret Department of Mysteries which unfortunately did not share its knowledge. The companies were often ridiculed because desperate Squibs tried to find their non-existent magic powers through their courses. Every time I entered the Kwikspell building I saw a few Squibs queuing for the most basic lessons. I did not understand why they bothered to attend the Kwikspell courses. They should have just learned some generally useful skills in the Muggle world and then returned to the wizarding world to use them. That would have been a shortcut to many high-ranking positions.

Just think about it. The Ministry of Magic recruited the best students who graduated from Hogwarts. How useful could it be that the Ministry's employees were experts in subjects like Potions, Herbology, Astronomy, or Transfiguration? Squibs could have studied subjects like public administration, political science, jurisprudence, and economics in Muggle universities. Those subjects would have been infinitely more useful when running a country, and that was why I had added them to my list of arts I needed to be at least somewhat familiar with.

The total population of wizarding Britain was about fifteen thousand, but its bureaucracy employed as much people as that of a Muggle state with vastly larger population. The only imaginable reason for that was that in wizarding Britain one could become the Minister for Magic without knowing what Muggle public administration required from a summer intern. They simply did not know how to organize anything, but neither did they want to. Since so many of wizarding Britain's citizens worked in the abysmally mismanaged depths of bureaucracy, a much needed reform would have left most of them unemployed. A nation of wizards was never short of money, and so there had never really been any need to run the country without wasting it.

To be honest, these things became obvious to me only after I started my excursions to the Muggle world. It was a reminder to me that no matter how stupid something was, even as intelligent and analytical person as I was might need someone or something else to point it out. I swore to myself that in the future I would be more perceptive and willing to learn new insights from where I would not have sought them out earlier.

* * *

One day when I returned home after a dozen satisfyingly exhausting duel practices with an ex-Auror employed by the Kwikspell Company, I noticed two letters on my table. One of them was written by Ginny. The little girl had kept on writing to me as if I still was her diary, and I had kept on writing her back, considering the trouble a small price to pay for the opportunities that the role of a hero would offer me. Luckily, the distance between Hogwarts and Diagon Alley meant that she had to wait for my responses for a few days each time, which was a tremendous improvement.

The other letter was written by Potter. That was the one I opened first.

_Dear Tom,_

_My second term at Hogwarts ended today. The End-of-Term Feast was a joyous occasion with the Chamber of Secrets incident behind and Gryffindor winning the House Cup. However, now I'm once again faced with a summer with my Muggle relatives, the Dursleys. They utterly despise magic and I'm sure they haven't forgotten that the last time I saw them I escaped from their house using a flying car. They are sure to punish me for the crime of existing._

_I'm writing this letter to you from the Hogwarts Express, and until September I will be living in Number Four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. Since I will not be enjoying my time in the Muggle world, I hope you are still happy with inviting me to your new home. That would be greatly beneficial for both me and the Dursleys._

_Your friend,_

_Harry Potter_

I grinned in a very evil way. Associating with Harry Potter would be greatly beneficial for me too, much more so than he could imagine. As I understood it, he was quite a timid young person and would be bored and lonely when living with the Muggles. I would have more than two months time to manipulate him before he returned to Hogwarts with his friends. It should be long enough to turn him into an admiring follower whose wise mentor figure was not Albus Dumbledore but Tom Valedro.

And so I wrote a letter to him promising to visit him in Little Whinging in a few days. Learning new skills in the Kwikspell Company was rewarding, but there were other avenues to power. Exploiting the fame of the Boy Who Lived, the saviour of the wizarding world, was one of them, but for that to succeed, I would need to bring him up as my stepping stone to greatness.

* * *

Published on the 22nd of August, 2019.


	7. The Two Orphans

Chapter 7

THE TWO ORPHANS

I was doing something so atrocious, so heinous, so undignified, that just a month earlier – well, a month plus fifty years earlier – I probably would have called it blood-treason. I was reading Muggle newspapers. _Daily Mail_, _The Guardian_, and _Financial Times_ were under my scrutiny, for I wanted to be aware of every revolutionary magic substitute Muggles might invent and to understand the complex operation of a huge society.

The Muggle law enforcers were investigating an incident where a million pounds sterling had somehow disappeared from a bank office. The office staff had been interrogated, but no one was accused of embezzlement due to lack of evidence. It was a total mystery, an unsolvable riddle.

Stealing the money had been so easy that I had considered doing it again. However, if there was a supernaturally successful serial bank robber on the loose, the Ministry of Magic was bound to hear of it and then a wizard would be suspected. So, if I ever wanted more Muggle money, I would need to devise a more subtle way of getting it. And no, I was not considering any honest work.

I had lied to the Goblins that my money had come from lottery. Actually, it would be a much safer way of getting money than outright stealing it. It should not be very difficult to magically ensure that my numbers were drawn. I could even travel to the continent and repeat the deceit in some Dutch, Belgian, and French lotteries. No one would ever know that some mischief had happened. It might even be for the best if I returned the money I had stolen and made it look like someone had placed stacks of bank notes in a wrong place. I could never be too careful. It was entirely possible that the Ministry investigated all even slightly mysterious Muggle incidents that involved large amounts of money. (When reading about the Wizarding War, I had been impressed with the legendary Auror Alastor Moody's Constant Vigilance.)

However, first I had a meeting with my promising minion and political asset, Harry Potter. He had had three days to get bored in the Muggle world and start to long for wizard company. That had always been more than enough for me even though other people meant so little to me.

I stepped to the balcony of my house, cast the Disillusionment Charm on myself, mounted my Firebolt broomstick (a prototype I had purchased from the producer before they were even brought to the market simply because I could afford it), and rose high above the roofs of London. Then I directed the broom southwest and got going. I felt my spirits rise as London's cityscape seemed to glide beneath me with roaring speed. With a broom as fast as Firebolt, the journey would not take more than half an hour or so.

After settling in my new life, I had established a certain routine in my daily activities. I woke up early and invigorated myself with physical exercise in Hyde Park and a cold shower back home. Then I read advanced textbooks on various magical subjects or basic textbooks on Muggle sciences. After reading the often ponderous texts until my focus began to slacken, I switched to practicing the spells, transfigurations, and magical methods I had read about. Then I had scheduled an hour of recreation that I usually spent flying on my Firebolt. The Kwikspell lessons took place in the afternoons, and while eating lunch I skimmed Muggle newspapers and scientific journals. In the evenings I used Legilimency on Muggles, not just scientists, but also engineers, military and intelligence officers, politicians, diplomats, and businessmen – basically anyone who knew something interesting or had expertise and experience I could utilize. Lastly, I had another go at the textbooks. At weekends I usually Apparated to the Welsh mountains to fly and later attended a concert by the London Philharmonic Orchestra.

Although there was much appeal in learning and practicing, I could not help but feel the dull fatigue that was unpleasantly familiar to me. I had been trapped in the diary for fifty years, and after being freed had had a mighty drive and vigour to do almost anything, but apparently the enthusiasm had not lasted for even a month. I was lapsing back into the apathy that had been my normal state of mind, and I was not looking forward to it. My strict routines and the urge to become exhausted with practice every day were meant to keep the depressing feeling of meaninglessness at bay. Unfortunately, it was not enough.

I needed something new and interesting to do. Perhaps Potter would be of help to me. Manipulating other people was a challenge much more unpredictable and entertaining than increasing power with the simple cycle of reading and practicing. That was just what I needed. And, unlike the manipulations in my Hogwarts years, manipulating Harry Potter was going to be useful, not just fun.

From the Muggle sciences I had learned that humans were a social species by nature. Human beings needed other people around them or life would become meaningless. I would have preferred to be above such sentimental defects, but perhaps it was simply not possible. This apathy I was starting to feel again was proof of it. Admittedly, ruling an empty world as an immortal wizard-king would be excruciatingly boring. Even I was dependent on other people, perhaps not as friends, but at least as pawns and playthings. One could not be a Dark Lord without anyone to lord over.

I contemplated these things during my broom ride, until I noticed some of the landmarks I had memorized when studying a map of the region. I found the village of Little Whinging and landed half a mile from Potter's home. I did not risk going nearer in case there were some very wide-ranging wards that detected magic in Muggle areas. I studied my surroundings until I was sure I knew the place. That way I was able to Apparate back there.

With a twist I Apparated back to my home in Diagon Alley. There, I left my Firebolt on its place and with another twist Apparated back to where I had left from a few seconds earlier. I was going to walk slowly the rest of the way, properly acting like a Muggle. I did not want to meet Potter walking wobbly and my stomach churning, those nasty side-effects of all methods of instantaneous transportation. Getting used to them was taking much longer than I had hoped.

I found the playground where Potter and I had decided to meet. Potter was already there, walking nervously in a small circle, glancing around. He saw me, but did not look at me for longer than a fraction of a second. I wondered briefly if he had a habit of not looking directly at people.

"Hello, Harry."

His gaze shifted back to me in an instant.

"Tom? Is that you? You look different."

I stepped closer and smiled as warmly as I could.

"Yes, I'm using disguising charms. I'm not taking the risk of anyone knowing my true identity."

"Would it be possible to hide my scar with such a charm?" he asked.

"Of course," I said, remembering how Ginny had told me of Potter hating his fame. "Unfortunately, the effect isn't permanent. And I can't do it for you now; your Trace would inform the Ministry about it."

"Trace?"

"The spell that detects underage magic. It's my least favourite spell by far. Luckily, it didn't follow me into the diary. Oh, there's one thing I'd like you to do for me."

I handed Lockhart's wand over to Potter. He took it, bemused. Then, without warning, I wrenched it back from his grip.

"Ah, that's better," I said, smiling.

"Uh… what was that about?" he asked, looking confused and slightly wounded.

"Sorry about that," I said, pocketing the wand. "A quick lesson of Wandlore. The wand chooses the wizard, and although it's possible to use another's wand, it's much more difficult and wearing. If a wizard defeats another, he wins the other's wand's allegiance. You disarmed Lockhart and this wand yielded to you. In my hands it felt wrong. That's why I gave it back to you so that I could take it from you by force. It worked; the wand has now yielded to me. If I'd warned you of what I was doing, you'd've given the wand back to me willingly, and I don't think that would've been enough for me to win the wand's allegiance."

"All right," he said. "Mr Ollivander did say something about that."

I suddenly remembered how his wand had felt in my hands when I had briefly used it before leaving Hogwarts.

"Did you have trouble finding a suitable wand?" I asked in passing, hoping to lure him into telling me something.

"I tested almost every single wand in the shop before he offered me this," he said and showed the wand I had wondered about. "Holly and phoenix feather…"

He stopped quite abruptly. It was as if there was something he did not want to tell me. I had an urge to use Legilimency on him and learn whatever I wanted, but I resisted it. I would wait until he visited Diagon Alley.

I began to steer the conversation to the topics I had listed beforehand. It was crucial for me to learn what was so special about him that Voldemort had tried to kill him as a baby. If he had some kind of innate Dark Lord immunity, I would have to be extremely careful around him.

But no.

"Dumbledore told me that Voldemort couldn't kill me because my mother gave her life to save me," he explained. "Her love gave me a protection more powerful than Voldemort."

I had to suppress a grimace. Such a Dumbledore-ish thing. Love is the most powerful force in the world, something like that the old goat had told his students while I had rolled my eyes. And now I was supposed to learn that he was right?

Love was just one emotion among many. And I knew for a fact that it was not the most powerful one. Muggle history indicated that most investments in scientific and technological advancements had been made for two purposes: to gain either military or commercial advantage. Similarly, in the wizarding world, many spells had been crafted for the exact same purposes. According to mainstream Muggle science, humans had evolved to be the most intelligent species on Earth because our ancestors had struggled to outsmart one another in order to gain social status which in the ancestral environment had equalled power.

The most powerful emotion, or at least the most influential, was greed. If love had truly motivated more, humans would still live in the wilds, probably unable to speak, let alone cast spells. On second thought, those love-driven humans would have quickly become extinct as some less sentimental species would have wiped them to the garbage can of evolutionary missteps.

These were not things I was going to explain to Potter. Instead, I continued to one important topic on my list: why he had so easily believed my story of Ginny being possessed by Voldemort, something that included someone called Quirrell.

And so Potter told me about his adventure during his first year at Hogwarts. While listening I thought about what implications Voldemort's attempt to return to life had, but then Potter told me the horrible conclusion of his adventure.

"The Flamels… are dying?" I stuttered, trying to temper my rising panic.

"Yes. Dumbledore said that death is just the next great adventure."

I did not want to hear any of that rubbish. For a moment I ceased playing my game with Potter and calculated the situation. The Philosopher's Stone had been destroyed a year ago. For how long were the Flamels going to survive after it? Had the Elixir stopped their ageing, in which case they might have decades left to live? Or had they died in mere days?

Should I track them down and, if they still lived, interrogate them with any means necessary? No, as much as it pained me to admit, it would be futile. They had lived for centuries without anyone being able to force valuable information out of them, not even the likes of Voldemort and Grindelwald. That meant the knowledge of how to create a Philosopher's Stone was going to be lost to me. There was nothing I could do. I would have to rely on my Horcruxes, which was challenging since most likely I did not have any. I would have to find one that Voldemort had made and somehow bind it to me instead.

If only there was some way to speak to the dead and to force the spirit of Nicolas Flamel to help me…

"It is a great tragedy when someone so ancient dies," I said when Potter had started to look at me curiously. "The Flamels certainly had a vast knowledge of every branch of magic. But I digress. Please, continue your story, I'd like to know everything about the Chamber of Secrets incident."

He continued, told me about his meeting with Dobby, his relatives locking him in his bedroom, the Weasleys coming to rescue him, and his accidental visit to Knockturn Alley. I was particularly interested about this part, since the fact that Lucius Malfoy had been selling Dark artefacts to Borgin and Burkes meant he had been seeking a way of getting rid of my diary. I enquired a bit too closely, and then Potter realized what the plot had been.

"Dobby warned me about the Chamber," he muttered. "And he turned out to be the elf of the Malfoys. That means Lucius Malfoy knew that the Chamber was about to be opened? But how?"

"He was a Death Eater during the war – that's what Voldemort called his followers," I said, trying to come up with something. "Apparently Voldemort's been in contact with him. I'll talk with Dobby about this."

I made a mental note to myself to Obliviate Potter of his realization.

Potter continued and I listened keenly, although not all of the events at Hogwarts were new to me. He told about his friend Hermione Granger and her cleverness that had allowed them to infiltrate the Slytherin common room. The girl seemed precocious and powerful. I was surprised to learn that she had been one of the petrified, meaning she was a Muggle-born.

Potter finished his story, and I was relieved to learn that Dumbledore too had believed the story I had fabricated. Since Voldemort had been possessing Quirrell who had died at Hogwarts, it was entirely plausible that his soul had stayed there. I wondered what Dumbledore had deduced of Malfoy's involvement, but I decided not to ask Potter if he had told the Headmaster about Dobby's warning.

"… and so, here I'm again, stuck with the Muggles for the summer," he sighed. "That's a lot about me. Why don't you tell about yourself?"

I suddenly realized I had almost interrogated him about his adventures. That was not how friends talked with one another. In order to manipulate him successfully, I would need to pay closer attention to my behaviour.

"Well, I completed my OWLs and started taking the Kwikspell Company's courses," I prattled and, when going on, was surprised to notice he seemed genuinely interested. Perhaps his life in the wizarding world was so exciting that a normal wizard life was totally unfamiliar to him.

"… it's amazing how learning one thing leads to several other things to learn next," I pressed on. "I asked the Kwikspell instructor what skills support the mastering of spells and techniques. He told me that playing the violin is in many ways similar to wielding magic and that martial arts are essential in becoming a masterful duellist. So I'm now seeking a teacher of those arts from the Muggle world."

Potter looked at me quite sadly.

"I hope I'd have something like that to do," he said quietly.

I blinked.

"You don't have any hobbies?"

"No. The Dursleys won't even think about paying for them… for me, that is."

I looked around. The neighbourhood looked quite middle-class, surely his relatives had some money to spend. Then I remembered what Potter had told me, things I had not bothered to think about earlier. His relatives hated magic. The Weasleys had rescued him after he had been locked in his bedroom…

"Please… tell me about your home life," I said.

He was silent for a moment, as if he was debating with himself. Then, he began to speak. He told me everything, about being called a freak, about Harry Hunting, about living and being locked in a cupboard under the stairs, about the lengths his uncle had gone to prevent him from getting the Hogwarts letter.

It was far worse than I had imagined. I had hated living in the orphanage, but at least I had been left alone with a room of my own. Harry had endured outright hostility he had not deserved in any way. He had suffered from lack of food and an unreasonable amount of chores, but that had been because of the hateful attitude of his relatives. My years at the orphanage had at least been darkened by the Great Depression and the Second World War, circumstances that were understandable causes of poverty. Mrs Cole had not been responsible for my miserable childhood, Grindelwald was. He had caused the stock market crash that had escalated the economic crisis, just as he had established the warmongering puppet governments in Russia, Italy, and Germany.

I wondered, who (in addition to Voldemort) was indirectly responsible for Harry's troubles, and I was quite sure I knew the culprit.

"Why are you living with them?" I asked once he had finished.

"They're my only living relatives," he muttered.

"That doesn't make any sense! Your parents certainly had many friends in the wizarding world who'd've gladly adopted you, the Boy Who Lived. Just think about the Weasleys."

He looked as if he had never even thought about it. The Dursleys had efficiently indoctrinated the feeling of not being wanted into him.

"You're right," he said thoughtfully. "I wonder if Dumbledore had some reason. At least I think it was him, he had the key to my Gringotts vault."

"In fact, since the Potters were a pure-blood family, you've got many distant cousins in the wizarding world. I don't think you'd need to go many generations down your family tree to find shared ancestors with the Weasleys."

"Really?" he said, looking almost shocked.

"There are some very powerful wards that are designed to protect family members in their home," I mused, trying to remember the details. "And they're often bound by blood. That may be the reason you must be living with your closest relatives. Although I've never heard before that such wards would be connected to Muggles… but I can look for an explanation in my books."

We had walked a large circle for miles while talking. The Dursley household soon came to view and I tried to sense wards around it, but without using a wand I could not.

"Your home appears to be very vulnerable," I said. "But that's not possible. There have to be some very powerful protective spells in here to keep Death Eaters away. They may require your presence in here, I'm afraid. Let's meet again in a few days, and if the wards permit it, I'll take you to Diagon Alley."

"That would be great," Harry said. "I can't wait to return to the wizarding world."

"I know how you feel, I really do," I said, shaking his hand in farewell.

I started to walk away, quite happy that I wanted to make sure I was out of any wards before Disapparating, because I had much to think about and walking had always made my thoughts flow more smoothly.

I had not advanced in my plan of manipulating Harry, the news of the Flamels' impending deaths and of Harry's home life had thrown me off balance. Well, maybe our conversation had laid firm foundations for future manipulations, and perhaps his trust in Dumbledore would be shaken by the reasoning that he could have lived his childhood with some wizard relatives.

I absently looked at the dull rows of identical houses that were so characteristic of Little Whinging. Harry's experiences in the Muggle world were appalling. It was a miracle he did not have as hostile an attitude towards Muggles as I had had before being impressed by their science and technology.

But it was a good thing for me he was not having a good time. When abandoned in the hostile environment, he would learn to greatly appreciate the presence of his only wizard contact, me.

As I Apparated back home and went to the balcony to look at the magical hustle of Diagon Alley, I realized I could mildly empathize with Harry. That was new. I had not felt the emotion ever before.

Only much later that evening did I realize that I had started to call him Harry in my mind, someone I was in first-name basis with, not Potter anymore, one among the disconnected masses of other people who meant nothing to me.

* * *

Published on the 1st of September, 2019.


	8. Fleeing the Apathy

Chapter 8

FLEEING THE APATHY

Many times I had been infuriated with the stupidity of other people, and every time I had been wondering what was wrong with their minds. Well, in all honesty, sometimes my own mind, which I had considered uniquely clear and rational, made me wonder about myself.

My plan, from the very beginning of my magical career, had been the following: first, become immortal; second, become the most powerful wizard in the world; third, eliminate opposition; fourth, rule the world forever. How was it even possible that those goals lacked the power to motivate me to the fullest? Why was I always an apathetic concentration of nihilism while the lesser people, those who had accepted their fate to die one day and cease to exist, were able to enjoy their fleeting lives? These questions had plagued me for years, every time when I had not succeeded in mustering the motivation to read some book or practice some spell. Around me, other people had often been much more enthusiastic although they had never had plans of using the skills in order to do something that mattered.

No wizard wisdom had ever been able to answer my questions, and so I decided to search answers in the Muggle world. I used Legilimency on a renowned psychologist and used her knowledge to analyze myself. What I learned was complicated.

It appeared people were rarely motivated by abstract goals. Although the rational mind knew very well that immortality was the most important thing there could ever be, it meant little to the unconscious mind. Human beings lived in the moment, and we were much more frightened by things like thunder or a venomous snake than the concept of death. That was why we were much more motivated to find shelter or to run than to read through ancient tomes in hopes of finding a clue that could open a way to eternal survival.

Human beings were inherently stupid. Our unconscious mind was still that of an animal. Unfortunately, I would have to suffer this stupidity in my own life even though I knew it was stupidity. It was stupidity of such a fundamental kind that no one could learn not to be stupid even if they tried to.

There was a reason for my misanthropy. A very good reason, I might add. It was tragic that eugenics had gone out of fashion after Grindelwald's minions had associated it with their genocides. Perhaps the new Muggle science of genetic manipulation would be a tool of creating a new, rational human being. How even that could help me, though, I was not sure. I was quite attached to my soul, even if it was the product of the irredeemably out-of-date genes that determined the human mind.

The psychologist's explanation to my question about ruling the world as a goal was simpler. There was no actual reason _why_ I wanted to rule the world. It was just something that Dark Lords tried to achieve. There were objectively good sides, of course, like people doing what you wanted them to do, and getting rid of things that annoyed you, and delegating all uninteresting tasks to minions, and not having anyone who could order you to do anything. However, to me the rulership of the world was not a tool of achieving something great, it itself was the achievement. Ending wars, ending hunger, and ending poverty, those Dumbledore-ish goals just could not motivate me. I had, already in my Hogwarts years, had several lackeys I had been bossing around, and it had been fun. But having _several billion more people_ to boss around? It could not be that much more fun. So why bother?

I continued to scan the psychologist's mind, searching for more knowledge. I wanted to know if there was something that could truly motivate me so that I might flee the apathy I felt.

Exceptionally intelligent people were often lonely, because they had problems with getting along with most people. Many of them found themselves focusing on challenges that mostly involved people as intelligent as them or sometimes no other people at all. Such as scientific research, arts or other creative occupations, or strategy games like chess and Go.

Were these solutions to my problem? Should I find some research topic that I found interesting as such, not just a stepping stone on my way towards world domination? Or should I seek out my artistic tendencies and dedicate my immortality to creating something aesthetically wondrous? Games had always frustrated me in the long run, but if I turned the real world into my chess board, that should be able to provide me entertainment for a very long time.

One thing was certain: I had made the right decision in the Chamber of Secrets. Meeting Harry in Little Whinging had lifted me from my apathetic stupor for a time. Since I wanted a permanent solution, I decided to meet him in a regular basis for the rest of the summer. That would be one part of my motivating challenge in life. I would master the art of manipulation so perfectly it could be considered a scientific research project. I would create an army of followers so skilfully it could be considered a piece of art. And I would use that army to outmanoeuvre all opposition in a massive, world-wide game of chess.

_That _was a plan worthy of the Heir of Slytherin. I just hoped it would work. It would not be the first time my attempts to get motivated failed and the dullness returned.

* * *

Since the psychologist believed arts to be motivational, I decided to try if they worked for me. One of the main reasons I had become so attached to Hogwarts was the artistic magnificence of the castle. Contrast to the dreary Muggle orphanage had been immeasurable. Ever since I had been bitter about it that I had never had the possibility to learn arts like painting, sculpting, and music.

It was time to rectify that. I attended the first lesson with the violin instructor I had arranged for myself. He began by saying that playing the violin should be started at a very young age. However, as we began the lesson, he quickly became impressed with my talents, and by the end of the lesson he called me a natural and a virtuoso.

Unfortunately, this was not due to my talents of playing the violin, but of Legilimency. While he had taught me to properly hold the instrument, press the strings, and use the bow, I had been delving into his mind. I had borrowed his skills while playing, because I had reasoned it was a shortcut in practising my own skills. I would eventually develop a muscle memory as good as he had, and that was the harder side compared to learning the theory.

I also began my lessons in the martial arts. They were more challenging than the violin lessons as I was unable to maintain the eye contact required for Legilimency, and so I had to repeatedly stop the instructor to be able to gaze into his eyes. One of the first things I learned was that there was more to the martial arts than the fighting technique. It was all about _discipline_. I was not interested about that part. That way, the technique reminded me of the Dark Arts. To me, the whole purpose and ontology of these skills was the capability to crush and subjugate my enemies.

The next day I came up with another project that could be considered as either science or art. One of the courses in the Kwikspell Company was Spell-Crafting, but for some reason it took me weeks to realize its true potential. It was the most challenging course by far, but it offered unlimited possibilities. No great wizard relied on just spells others had crafted. I began to apply my knowledge in a project of reverse-crafting some very basic spells and then crafting new spells based on almost identical principles. For example, using the Levitating Charm as a starting point I could craft a spell that made things heavier instead of lighter. It had much potential in pranking, which actually might not be totally pointless. Ginny had told me much about her brothers Fred and George who seemed exceptionally creative people. It was probably a good idea to recruit them as my next minions, and giving something to their pranking arsenal might do the trick.

* * *

Blood wards. I had finally found in the library's old tomes of protective magic something that matched Harry's description of the magic Dumbledore had used to ensure his safety. I memorized the details and explained them to Harry when I visited Little Whinging the next time as we were walking away from his home.

"Ever since your mother died to save you, her sacrifice has protected you from Voldemort or anyone who acts in his name. The protection is connected to the blood of your mother, and it can be strengthened by your mother's sister who shares that blood. Right now the sacrifice fuels a ward around your home, and it is so powerful that Voldemort and his followers are totally unable to harm you in your home. I'm unsure how wide-ranging the ward is. Clearly it's not limited to the house, because in that case it would be useless unless you were to be kept inside your whole life."

"So, is that the reason I must be living with the Dursleys?" Harry asked.

"Yes," I answered. "There are some limitations to the ward. You and your aunt must be living in the same home, and you must be underage. Also, the ward needs your presence to be refreshed. You must live for at least a month every year within the ward's protection, or otherwise it will fade. Apparently, you living here refreshes the ward for about twelve times the amount of time you spend protected by it."

"That means I'm stuck in here for weeks," he said sullenly.

"Unfortunately," I said. "But it's not as bad as you think. You must be _living_ within the ward, not necessarily _be_ within it. You're free to leave the ward as long as you return for the next night. So, this is my proposition. For the rest of the month, in the mornings I'll come to fetch you, or send Dobby on my behalf, then you'll spend your day in Diagon Alley, and in the evenings you'll come back. This way, you won't be seeing much of your relatives."

Harry almost yelled with delight.

"Thank you, Tom! This is going to be the first whole summer I'll enjoy! I don't know how to repay you!"

_You will be a pawn in my great game_, I thought to myself. _Already you are indebted to me. The day will come when you will be doing all the favours._

"Your relatives may still cause you some trouble," I said. "I've come up with an idea of how you could gain leverage against them. Where do your aunt and uncle work?"

"Aunt Petunia is a housewife, Uncle Vernon works for Grunnings, a drill-making company."

"Excellent. I take it you inherited the wealth of the Potters. Are you rich?"

"There's a huge pile of gold in my Gringotts vault. I don't know how much it's worth."

"Well, I've been studying the Muggle world, and I've learned that storing your wealth in a vault is probably the worst possible way to manage it. If your parents had changed all their gold to Muggle money and invested it in the stock market, you'd be much richer than you are. So, I suggest you change the gold and buy the company your uncle works in. That way you can threaten him with sacking if he ever again mistreats you."

There was an almost wicked grin on Harry's face. I was happy to see that I was progressing in my plan of corrupting him.

"We're far enough," I said suddenly after realizing we were in the intersection where I used to Apparate, grabbed his arm and Apparated to Diagon Alley. He stumbled, looking seasick, but then the familiar sight of magical London filled him with happiness.

"Welcome back to our world," I said.

* * *

After Harry became a daily guest in my home I quickly learned how to influence him. All his life most people around him had treated him as an oddity. To his relatives, he was a freak. To magical people, he was a celebrity, either a hero or a villain. One of his best friends, Ron Weasley, appeared to have an inferiority complex which was why he repeatedly failed to behave naturally around Harry. The other friend, Hermione Granger, was the only one with whom Harry never felt uncomfortable with.

I fashioned my plan based on this information. I treated Harry as if he was just a normal person and forced myself to speak with him about everyday things I was not even remotely interested in. It was a strange but interesting alteration to my earlier manipulations which usually had involved flattery. As I had learned from him, he had been quick to accept his friends to enter his life, perhaps because they were the first ones he had ever had. I decided to claim the role of an older brother to Harry with equal efficiency. Luckily the likes of Percy Weasley and Oliver Wood had been too narrow-minded to seize that opportunity for their benefit. But it was understandable that Gryffindors did not recognize assets that were ripe for the taking.

As a part of this plan, I did not show how much attention I actually paid to Harry. Usually I spent just two or three hours a day with him while continuing my other activities. Most of the time he wandered around Diagon Alley, visited the shops and the library, and studied in order to prepare for his next school year. He became interested in my Potions laboratory where I brewed Polyjuice Potion and Veritaserum (just in case) and tried to brew Felix Felicis (like all sensible people do). Harry's own Potion-making skills were poor because of his resentful teacher, Severus Snape. Under my supervision, he tried to make some of the potions he had failed to make at Hogwarts (as making potions did not count, at least technically, as using magic over the summer), and he found that he actually liked the subject once he understood the principles. Seeing this as a new opportunity, I proceeded to teach him what Snape had failed to.

I had also solved the mystery involving his wand. I heard in his memories Ollivander telling him that his wand had a feather of the same phoenix whose feather was in my original yew wand. This information gave me much to think about. Harry had a twin wand, he was a Parselmouth, and his scar had hurt when he had met Voldemort. That was too much to be a coincidence. There had to be some kind of connection between the two of them. The question was, was there also a connection between Harry and me, Voldemort's former Horcrux?

* * *

After two weeks I had to face the fact that manipulating Harry Potter was far more difficult than I had imagined. All my attempts to nurture his Slytherin tendencies had rebounded from his impervious anti-Slytherin conviction. With Legilimency I learned that the Sorting Hat had suggested Slytherin for him, but he had turned the suggestion down. When he had been suspected of being the Heir of Slytherin, he had further assumed his opposition to all things Slytherin as a part of his identity.

Perhaps things were too good for him. It was easy to be a Gryffindor when there were no obstacles that required creative and unscrupulous solutions. Well, I would be patient. Trouble appeared to find Harry well enough.

One day in mid-July I invited Harry's friends to meet him. Originally I had planned to keep him separated from them, but since my manipulation was not progressing, it would do no harm. Besides, I needed to do a certain important thing with them. I had realized that the safety precautions to hide my true identity were inexcusably insufficient.

I met again with Ron Weasley and Ginny who was unable to conceal her delight when meeting "her diary" again. Shortly after them arrived Hermione Granger whom I somehow recognized, because she had once cast a Revealing Charm on the diary. She greeted me enthusiastically and asked a few clever questions that proved she was as smart as Harry had told me. Then the three of them gathered around a table with Harry and began to chat about their holidays, but then I began the action.

"_Confundo_, _Confundo_, _Confundo_, _Confundo_," I incanted.

They all fell into a state of total disorientation, and I began to use Legilimency and Memory Modifying Charms. I had reasoned it would be only a matter of time before they learned that Voldemort's original name had been Tom Riddle and not David Avery or whatever name it was I had told Harry in the Chamber.

Now that they were all there, I made them forget everything about the name Riddle. With Legilimency I searched every single memory from their four minds where they had thought about, said, heard, or read the name Riddle, and with the Memory Modifying Charm I changed all those memories to be about the name Valedro instead. From Harry's mind I removed the false origin story of Voldemort. I had asked Harry to take with him the first letter I had sent him, and from it I removed the part telling about my change of name.

This took literally hours for me to do, and in the end I was mentally exhausted. The children, of course, noticed nothing, and continued to chat after I lifted the Confundus Charms.

Finally confident that my dangerous secret would remain my own, I left the children to socialize and returned to scheme my devious plans.

Although manipulating Harry had proved difficult, I found that fashioning his loyalty and planning the steps in restoring the House of Slytherin along with my studying and practicing sessions kept me satisfactorily motivated. Life in magical Britain seemed to be going happily. A week after the meeting of Harry and his friends I learned from Ginny (who still wrote to me almost daily) that her father had won the grand prize in the _Daily Prophet_ drawing. The Weasleys had immediately decided to travel to Egypt to meet the family's oldest son, Bill.

Yes, that was how the famously poor family decided to use a windfall. I no longer wondered why they were so poor. Well, I was not going to complain. A holiday trip in Egypt for a month would certainly mean that I would enjoy a break in Ginny's annoyingly childish letters.

One day I read an article in the _Daily Prophet_ about the Weasleys and their stroke of luck. There they were, their whole large family of seven wizards, two witches, and one rat, visiting the pyramids and waving at the camera.

I sighed exasperatedly. Things in wizarding Britain were a little too good. The current situation offered no opportunities for any kind of change, and I needed change, because change meant conflict, and conflict was something I could exploit. Everything going smoothly would plunge me to boredom.

Little did I know that the article was about to cause a thrilling chain of events.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore sat behind his desk in the Headmaster's office and slowly popped a sherbet lemon into his mouth. He had just received a message from Amelia Bones, the director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, telling about the unbelievable breakout of Sirius Black from Azkaban.

Dumbledore flicked his wand, and a cupboard opened silently. A chess board levitated out of it and slowly placed itself in front of the Headmaster.

It was no ordinary chess board. It was Dumbledore's way of symbolizing the political situation in wizarding Britain, and it had been long since he had moved any piece. The board was mostly dominated by the white pieces. The black king was standing alone in a corner. There was a black bishop representing Lucius Malfoy and three pawns representing the other Death Eaters who had not been imprisoned at the end of the war.

Dumbledore levitated the other black bishop from the cupboard and placed it on the chess board as well.

* * *

Published on the 9th of September, 2019.


	9. A Black Affair

Chapter 9

A BLACK AFFAIR

_AZKABAN BREAKOUT: SIRIUS BLACK ON THE LOOSE_, screamed the headline of the _Daily Prophet_. The reporter, Rita Skeeter, did not appear to be troubled by the Ministry's massive failure to ensure the safety of Britain. On the contrary, she seemed to be wholeheartedly enjoying herself when reprimanding Cornelius Fudge, Amelia Bones, and several others of incompetence and negligence.

The article recounted Black's heinous history: he had been a double agent during the war, convincingly pretending to be on Dumbledore's side despite his background in one of the families most fascinated by the Dark Arts, and then, right after Voldemort's disappearance, he had shown his true colours for some unfathomable reason and massacred a wizard and twelve Muggles. Apparently, he had been Voldemort's right-hand man, although it made little sense. He had been in his early twenties when the war had ended, and yet there had been several much older and more experienced followers of Voldemort who had distinguished themselves many times. What in Atlantis had convinced Voldemort that Black had been more suitable than any of them? The thing with double agents was that one could never be entirely certain on which side they really were.

I had, of course, read about Black in _The Rise and Fall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named_, but his case had been one of the aftermaths I had not been that interested in. However, I remembered making a mental note that there was something else than the mass murder Black had committed, something that made Black's case more interesting than the other aftermaths of the war. So, I grabbed my own copy of the book that had caused me so much disgust and disappointment, and refreshed my memory.

Ah yes, Black's case was interesting because of its significance to Harry. Black had been James Potter's best friend and the Secret Keeper of the Potters. Harry had been orphaned because Sirius Black had betrayed his parents and sent Voldemort to kill them. No doubt, the man's heart was as black as his family.

I put the book down and looked at the door behind which Harry was chatting with Dobby. After exactly one month in Privet Drive, he had left his relatives for the following eleven months. Since the Weasleys were in Egypt, staying at The Burrow was not an option for him, and so I had genially invited him to stay in my guest room. (I had, however, rented a room for him at the Leaky Cauldron where he had his breakfasts and suppers. It would have been too suspicious if the hero of wizarding Britain was suddenly known to be living as a guest of an unknown foreigner.) As I had planned, Harry had got used to it that good things came from being a friend of Tom Valedro. Now I would need to become the bringer of a horrible truth, but Black's betrayal was something he needed to know. I would tell him, but only after I figured out the best way to use the situation for my benefit. Anything could be an opportunity.

I thought back to my failed attempts to manipulate Harry. The only time I had made any progress was when I had helped him to buy Grunnings, the company employing Vernon Dursley. Harry had been very enthusiastic about even the most boring procedures of changing gold into Muggle money, buying the company's shares, and dealing with the members of the company board. I had to admit that seeing Dursley's face changing colour to something like a beetroot when he had learned of Harry's new leverage against him was alone worth the trouble. (I had immediately afterwards stored the memory in a Pensieve and relived it whenever I wanted to remind myself that there were things that made life worth living.) However, ever since subjugating the Dursleys Harry had not shown any new signs of learning the way of Slytherin.

But with Sirius Black on the loose, the man who had betrayed Harry's parents, Harry had a new enemy to deal with. Avenging his parents would not be easy, and so he would need someone to help him and teach him the proper skills needed to exact his revenge. That someone would be me.

"Harry," I called.

Harry opened the door.

"Yes, Tom, what is it?"

"Bad news. Sirius Black has escaped from Azkaban."

"Who?"

"A high-ranking Death Eater, sentenced to Azkaban for life after a mass murder he committed right after Voldemort's defeat." I handed him the newspaper. "But there's more, something the _Daily Prophet_ doesn't tell. Let me read aloud the chapter about his role in the war from this book."

I read and he listened. Every now and then I glanced up at him and saw the changes of his expression. When I had read the part about Black's betrayal he was trembling with barely suppressed rage. When I finished, he was angrier than I had ever seen him, and I had trouble keeping my countenance grave. Smirking would have spoiled everything.

"He was their best friend?" Harry uttered in furious disbelief. "And he betrayed them to Voldemort… just like that?"

"Can you imagine Ron or Hermione doing that to you?"

My words seemed to sting him like a wasp as he considered the unthinkable.

"That's… that's just… they'd never do something like that!"

"But such betrayals do happen. Clearly, your parents trusted Black with their lives."

Harry was pacing, his fingers twitching as if he was imagining himself strangling of the betrayer of his family.

"He's a monster," he grumbled. "I will hunt him down!"

I turned away from him so that he could not see the grin I could no longer resist. As I listened to his feverish plans of revenge, I had an almost overwhelming urge to recite some clichéd lines of an Evil Overlord that kept popping in my mind.

_ The hate is swelling in you now. Take your wand… use it… Black is unarmed. Strike him down with it; give in to your anger!_

"How can anyone do something like that? And why didn't anyone – Dumbledore, Hagrid – tell me that my parents were betrayed by their friend?"

_ With each passing moment you make yourself more my servant! It is unavoidable… it is your destiny!_

"I'll find him! And when I do, I'll… I'll…"

_ Good! I can feel your anger! Black is defenceless… take your wand… strike him down with all of your hatred, and your journey towards the Dark Side will be complete!_

"And he even had to kill the other friend, Petti-whatshisname…"

_ Use your aggressive feelings, boy, let the hate flow through you!_

"Will you help me, Tom?" he said, suddenly taking notice of me again.

I faced him again, my expression solemn once more.

"Of course," I promised. "Voldemort is our common enemy, and so is his most treacherous servant. I'll be happy to help you to bring some justice to this world."

"Thank you, Tom," Harry said, smiling grimly. "I know what Ron and Hermione would've said. To let the Ministry deal with Black."

"They wouldn't understand how personal this is to you. Of course, sometimes it's wise not to do everything yourself, but when it comes to very personal matters… this is your life, Harry, and to shirk from your personal quests would be not to live at all."

He nodded, and asked,

"I must practice fighting him. Can you help me?"

"With pleasure. Once at Hogwarts, I'll teach you all the basic fighting spells. Before then, I can teach you some martial arts that I've been practicing."

I had a very good feeling about this. His hatred for Sirius Black would be my means of strengthening his Slytherin side.

* * *

Harry turned out to be an eager student. I had already witnessed his impressive flying skills, and it was not too difficult to train him to be an equally agile fighter. However, Black's case did not become such an obsession to him as I had hoped. After only a few days he had calmed down so that just a new determination remained of his initial fury.

Shortly after Black's escape it became clear that Dumbledore was watching Harry closely, something I found very uncomfortable. He received a letter from the Headmaster warning him about Black and telling him to stay in the safety of Diagon Alley.

"He knows I've left Privet Drive," Harry observed.

"If he has spies around here, he probably knows you're spending much time with me," I said. "Which must seem strange considering Dumbledore doesn't know anything about me. It's about time we came up with a false story of how we met and befriended. Any ideas?"

"No," he said. "I'm not very much in contact with the wizarding world apart from my friends. There's no likely way I'd've befriended someone who's supposedly from New Zealand. Are you really sure you don't want Dumbledore to –"

"Yes, I am. I don't have such faith in him as you do, and I will not give my secret to someone whose actions I do not understand at all. Keep in mind that he's the man who decided that you should live with the Dursleys. He's also the man who waited for years during which tens of millions of people died before he finally confronted Grindelwald and ended the war. Voldemort was free to terrorize Britain for a decade without Dumbledore ever confronting him. We're at peace not because of Dumbledore but because of your mother's sacrifice. I'm not saying that Dumbledore has some kind of nefarious hidden agenda, just that you shouldn't believe without question what he wants you to believe about him."

"All right, I see your point," Harry acquiesced. "But the false story… maybe we should approach the problem from a different angle."

Eventually we decided it was safest to include Hermione Granger in the false story. As she was a Muggle-born, her family might well have many contacts no one in the wizarding world was aware of. I invited her to meet Harry and me again, and together we fabricated a very convoluted story about her Muggle uncle who had been on a business trip to New Zealand and had somehow ended up dealing with the local magical community. According to this story, I had got acquainted with Harry through the Granger family.

The amount of lies I had told to hide my true origins was beginning to worry me. The larger this heap of fabrications became, the more unstable it became, and one day it might collapse entirely. Of course, ideally, none of us would need to tell this particular lie to anyone.

Of Harry's friends, Hermione was by far the most interesting one. Her academic prowess was reminiscent of me, and I was positively surprised to find myself in an actually intelligent conversation with her. She had used the summer reading advanced books of magical theory, something I had done back in the day unlike every single one of my classmates. Also, she had the out-of-the-box perspective to magical phenomena I had acquired via my Legilimency sessions in the Muggle world.

Hermione became a very frequent guest in my home near the end of the summer. She was just the kind of person Professor Slughorn would have taken under his wing, and seeing her potential, I decided to integrate her into my future power structure.

With Hermione around, I engaged in my project of discovering the truth about the hereditability of magical abilities. The most common pure-blood supremacist explanation for excluding Muggle-borns from the magical community was that they were actually just Muggles who had somehow stolen their magical powers from real wizards. However, they were usually the lower class pure-bloods who whined about it, making it sound like a pathetic excuse for their lack of talent. I had never considered the theory convincing. If there was a way of permanently stealing magical powers, some Dark Lord would have used it to steal all magic in the world as his own. The fact that there was more than one magic-user meant that stealing magic permanently was not possible. And if Muggles somehow discovered such a magnificent magical ability, they would not be Muggles in the first place.

At least Hermione had not stolen any magical power, that I learned when I invaded her mental privacy with Legilimency. She had been born with magic, but she had never known what her strange powers were before getting her Hogwarts letter. Much like myself.

I did not find it difficult to accept the truth about the matter, even if it was in stark contrast with my earlier blood purist view. As I had realized, to me it was of no negative consequence even if everyone else lost their magical powers due to magical blood being diluted with Muggle blood.

Still, the actual truth about how some wizards were born to Muggles interested me as a scientific mystery. Unfortunately, it was a sensitive topic to my Gryffindor minions because of what I had done the previous Hogwarts year. One day, when the Weasleys had returned from Egypt and Ginny and Ron were visiting me, Harry, and Hermione, I initiated a conversation about the topic.

"There are some fifteen thousand magical people on the British Isles," I said. "And more than sixty million Muggles. Still, only a few percent of magical people are Muggle-born. Squibs are rare as well. So, it is absolutely clear that the ability to use magic is hereditary and that the Slytherin ideology of preserving pure magical bloodlines is not based on simple bigotry. What is not clear is how pure the magical bloodlines have to be for the magical power to survive from generation to generation."

"Hermione is the cleverest witch in all our year," Harry remarked.

"There are some Muggle-born clans in Britain," Ron said. "They were founded many generations ago and their members only marry other Muggle-borns. I think the oldest of them has been a magical family for hundreds of years, but the Slytherin families still call them Mudbloods."

"And just look at Crabbe and Goyle," Harry said. "Both pure-blood, but barely able to do magic."

"And… err… well, Neville isn't much more talented than they are, I guess," Ron added.

"So, obviously the ability to do magic at all and the ability to control that power are two completely different things," I concluded. "Blood purism is a theory that is based on certain observations, but it is flawed. The truth is more complex."

"Why are you so interested about this blood stuff?" Hermione asked with slight disdain.

"Because I've learned that the truth is a very powerful force," I said, shrugging. "The blood purists remain unconvinced regardless of how much they have been moralized. Don't you think it's time for a different approach? Let's present them with the truth. If everyone accepts it, we'll eventually be on the same page. Then this schism in the wizarding world can be overcome."

_And then_, I continued silently in my mind, _we can be united under my banner, as we save our future from the rising Muggle threat by subjugating the Muggle world._

I smirked at the irony.

_For the Greater Good._

* * *

The evening of the 31st of August came, and I stood on my balcony, looking back at the four months that had passed since my return to a physical body. I had a good reason to be satisfied with what had happened. I had not been as efficient and productive since my first months in the wizarding world in 1938.

The Kwikspell teachers had taught me more than Hogwarts teachers had usually taught in an entire year. I was especially pleased with how much I had progressed with my fighting skills. The ex-Auror who taught Battle Magic and fighting techniques had commented that I was equal to a junior Auror. Although that level of skills was far from enough, it was sufficient for the moment. My Spell-Crafting project was doing nicely, too.

I had mastered several styles of martial arts, although not remotely as well as I intended to master them one day. Using Legilimency on the instructor could help me only for so far. I simply did not have enough time to practice the precise techniques I had experienced in his mind.

Playing the violin had become a kind of meditation routine for me. It really did help with mastering spells, but the concentration it required was similar also to the art of Occlumency. I was going to take my violin with me to Hogwarts. I was able to continue practicing without an instructor.

I had become quite familiar with the world of Muggle sciences. There was no shortage of fascinating topics, and the list of books I would need to read had become almost frustratingly long. Luckily, more important than being familiar with some trivial pieces of information was the scientific way of thinking I had embraced.

Manipulating lottery drawings had become a routine for me, and I had managed to swindle more money than I bothered to care. Most of it I had invested in the stock market, but a large share I had used to buy magical artefacts and old tomes, including most of the illegal stuff that Lucius Malfoy had sold to Borgin and Burkes the previous year. Perhaps one day I would use my fortune to build a small Hogwarts style castle in the Scottish Highlands.

And the most important of all, I had begun to recruit new minions. Harry and Hermione were just what one could hope; Ron and Ginny might turn out to be useful if trained properly. But they were not enough. I had an entire Hogwarts House to recruit next. That mission would start the next day, as I was returning to Hogwarts. Home…

It had been a good summer, the best one I had experienced. Just a few days of languishing in the metaphorical pit of apathy and boredom.

I heard Harry approaching me, and turned to face him.

"I talked with Mr Weasley," he said. "They're staying at the Leaky Cauldron. He told me that the Ministry is convinced that Sirius Black escaped in order to attack me."

"To finish what he started?"

"I guess so. Mr Weasley thinks Black hopes to bring Voldemort back."

"Everything seems so peaceful," I said, looking again out to Diagon Alley. It was quiet, shops were closing and only a few people were wandering around. "But it feels like the calm before the storm. Voldemort tried to return using the Philosopher's Stone. He opened the Chamber of Secrets and tried to return through Ginny. And now one of his insane henchmen has broken free. I'm sure more is to come."

"I'm not too worried," Harry said. "If he ever finds me, I'll remind him that I, too, have some unfinished business with him."

"Fighting a mass murderer requires more than some spells and fighting skills. It requires a certain mindset."

"I'm willing to learn it."

"Good," I said. _Your hate will make you powerful._

* * *

Published on the 19th of September, 2019.


	10. Homeward Bound

Chapter 10

HOMEWARD BOUND

Platform Nine and Three-Quarters and the Hogwarts Express. To me they had always symbolized the world of infinite adventures that was Hogwarts. I recalled the day exactly fifty-five years earlier when I had first stepped through the barrier. I had felt belonging. Although I had visited Diagon Alley many times between Dumbledore's visit at the orphanage and the start of the Hogwarts term, it had been the first day I had truly realized that the magical world was where I belonged.

Incidentally, Harry felt the same way. We stood on the platform in a companionable silence and looked at the old train fondly, as the Weasleys and Hermione were fussing a few paces away, Mr Weasley's eyes never straying far from Harry.

People were boarding the train, even the pure-bloods considering it a normal part of the wizarding world. I, on the other hand, was wondering who had decided that young witches and wizards should travel to school by train instead of using Portkeys, Floo, or Vanishing Cabinets. I should check _Hogwarts: A History _for the detail, but I was quite sure one of them had been the method of transportation before the railway had been built in the 19th century.

The Weasleys took their time bidding farewells, and we were among the last ones to board the train. Percy had left to display his Head Boy badge to anyone who was interested (which was no one), and Fred and George went to find one of their friends. That left Harry, Ginny, Hermione, and Ron in my company, and we found our compartment near the back of the train. There was, however, someone sitting there already: a relatively young wizard in shabby and patched robes, silently sleeping.

"Professor R. J. Lupin," Hermione read the name from his trunk.

"Doesn't he have an Apparition licence?" I wondered. "Or is he here for a purpose?"

"Perhaps Dumbledore doesn't think Percy is able to maintain order," Ron suggested, gloating. "I wonder what subject he'll teach."

"Defence, I guess," I said. "Poor Professor Lockhart died for a noble cause."

They all looked at me. Should I, perhaps, Obliviate them of that knowledge…?

We left the professor alone and the children began their normal, frivolous small talk. I had to endure Ron blabbering about something called the Chudley Cannons. I lost all interest in the topic when it turned out they were not such cannons that could fire projectiles at someone. Luckily, Hermione decided to unleash her cat, and there was some disagreement with her and Ron whose pet rat seemed to be the cat's choice for lunch. That ended all conversation about the waste of time called Quidditch.

"What elective subjects are you taking now that you start your third year?" I asked, deciding to steer the conversation to a more academic direction.

"I'm taking all of them!" Hermione announced enthusiastically. "I asked many teachers their opinions and all of the subjects seem so interesting that I must study them. Although Professor McGonagall doesn't like Divination."

"You'll be very busy," I said. "I took all the electives except Muggle Studies, but I couldn't attend all of the classes. Arithmancy and Ancient Runes can, to some extent, be learned just by reading the material. And, of course, History classes can be skipped altogether."

Hermione looked shocked, but decided not to object to my last statement. Harry, Ginny, and Ron snickered.

"Professor McGonagall promised that she could help me arrange my timetable," Hermione said.

"And you?" I asked turning to the boys.

"Magical Creatures and Divination," they both said.

"Those are the easy choices," I said, feeling slightly disappointed at their lack of ambition. "I think Arithmancy and Ancient Runes should be mandatory subjects." Hermione was nodding fervently. "They are much more important than Herbology or Astronomy. No one has risen to greatness without studying them extensively."

"Why?" Ron asked. "What's so important about them?"

"They are, in many ways, equivalent to the Muggle sciences of mathematics, physics, and engineering. Charms, Transfiguration, and the spells that should be taught in Defence are based on Arithmantic and Runic foundations. You learn to think the right things, say the right incantations, and wave your wand in the right patterns, but do you have any idea, why those things are right? During the summer I attended many courses of the Kwikspell Company. One of them was Spell-Crafting, and it's based on Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. I've learned the ways spells work, and I can use that knowledge to create new spells. Thus, without those arts there could be no magical civilization. We'd have the power, but not the means to use it. Just like there could be no Muggle civilization without mathematics, physics, and engineering. There's a huge difference between wizards who can only do what's taught to them, and wizards who can craft their own means. That's why I find it easier to relate to Muggle scientists compared to some average, boring wizards."

"Do you know how Divination works?" Hermione asked. "I've tried to read the book, but it's quite vague."

"It's vague, because no one really knows," I said, shrugging. "No one can learn to be a Seer, it's a hereditary ability. However, there's some magic that can be used with crystal balls, cards, tea leaves, etcetera. It is theorized that the magic does not actually predict the future, but somehow gathers information in a strange and unpredictable way, analyses it, scrambles the analysis, and gives hints about it, and so the Diviner may learn what someone is doing or about to do. I think it's been a constant field of study in the Department of Mysteries in the Ministry. I wouldn't mind working there one day."

The Department of Mysteries had been on my mind lately, and getting an access to whatever knowledge the Unspeakables did not want outsiders to know had become my new goal.

In the afternoon, we got visitors. The compartment door slid open, and three boys grinned at us maliciously. It was easy for me to recognize Abraxas Malfoy's grandson, Harry's school nemesis.

"Who have we here?" Draco Malfoy sneered. His gaze shifted from Harry to me, and his eyes narrowed. He contemplated his next action for a very brief while, but clearly did not risk provoking Harry while a person many years his senior was present. He snorted scornfully and took his leave, his minions trailing him mutely.

I sighed. Harry had told me about the boy who would become a powerful politician one day, but I had hoped he had exaggerated even a little. The ruin of the House of Slytherin embodied in Draco Malfoy. I would need to teach him a lesson.

"That went smoothly," Harry commented.

"I knew his grandfather," I mumbled. "He wasn't such a childish brat."

The journey continued northward, and Ron was telling about his adventures in Egypt for the umpteenth time. Ginny, who still seemed to be shy in Harry's presence, said very little, which I, of course, did not mind a bit. Hermione began to talk about Hogsmeade and its proud history, and Ron began a lecture of the product range of Honeydukes. Harry, who had got his uncle's signature in the permission form without needing to threaten him at all, was worried if Sirius Black being at large would complicate things.

I had to listen to their twaddle for hours. Eventually I decided to investigate what exactly was going on in their brains. I used Legilimency on Ron who was sitting opposite of me, and began to use the time productively: learning to understand how these people thought. It required very advanced Legilimency, but luckily, possessing someone as I had done was extremely good practice.

To Ron Weasley the interaction with his friends was not some kind of a mission. He did not try to achieve anything. He was not friends with Harry and Hermione because he thought they could be useful to him. He genuinely enjoyed their company. Social interaction that achieved nothing was not a cause of frustration to him, it was just normal. My approach to social interaction was as alien to him as his was to me.

At first, I shrugged this approach off as a part of Ron's lazy and ambitionless nature, but then I found a similar way of thinking in the minds of Harry, Hermione, and Ginny. Was I the only one who wanted to be productive at all times? Since even my Kwikspell lessons and Legilimency sessions had had trouble keeping me motivated, I could not even imagine how apathetic these children were.

Professor Lupin was still sleeping when it became dark and I began to feel the familiar excitement of returning to Hogwarts. I wondered if he had slept at all the previous night. Judging by his robes he had not had a job in years. Perhaps he had been so overjoyed when becoming a teacher that he had spent the entire night partying. If so, it would not be difficult to bet how the alleged curse would remove him before the next school year.

The train stopped abruptly, but Hermione soon came to the conclusion that we were not in Hogsmeade yet. There was some commotion as many students tried to figure out what was happening, and then the lights went off.

"Did the train break down?"

"_Lumos_," I said. The tip of my wand lit up, but the light was not as bright as I had intended. I tried to channel more power into the spell, but the light started to flicker. I felt a surge of annoyance followed by a wave of fear. Was I losing my precious magical powers? Was my return to life only temporary? Was I going to die right before I returned to Hogwarts again?

The compartment door slid open again. All warmth seemed to drain away, even from my mind. My fear intensified, and as the light of my wand went out altogether, I saw the horrifying hooded figure that was about to enter. Some part of my mind realized that the figure had been the cause of my magic failing and of the fear, but the realization did not help at all.

A Dementor. I had never seen or felt one before – Professor Merrythought had taken only the seventh-year students to an excursion to Azkaban – but I had heard enough horror stories of them to recognize one. As the wave of despair was about to crush me, I raised my wand and pointed it at the monster with my trembling fingers.

"_Avada Kedavra_," I squeaked.

Absolutely nothing happened. I could not feel any magical power surging in my wand; it was like a useless stick of wood. It might have been just my imagination, but I heard a hollow, contemptuous laughter emanating from the hooded terror.

Freezing coldness crept into my limbs. My vision became blurred and my frantic thoughts flowed sluggishly. I felt like falling down… all the way down to the darkest depths of my being.

* * *

_I was at the orphanage… long, dreary corridors, dust on the floor and spots of mould on the walls… it was cold, food was bad and there was too little of it… Mrs Cole looked at me with a sour expression… the other orphans were annoying, some of the older ones were said to beat the younger ones just out of frustration…_

_It was annoying… it was miserable… the only way I could feel I was in control was to torment the other orphans… Billy Stubbs' rabbit was hanging from the roof… Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop trembled in the cave I had found…_

_I had returned to the orphanage for the summer of 1941 and I saw the devastation that Grindelwald's Muggle subjects had caused: buildings reduced to rubble… I was not allowed to use magic… what if a bomb hit the orphanage and killed me?_

_I was at Hogwarts… Avery, Lestrange, Rosier, Mulciber, and Nott had gathered around me… I was bossing them around, not out of necessity, but because it was fun… I needed power, I wanted power… the horrible apathy was about to devour me… I would conquer the world… I did not actually want to rule, I just wanted to have something to do so that I could flee the apathy…_

_People were so annoying, so frustrating… was it possible to force them not to annoy me?_

_Grindelwald's influence was spreading… he would come to Britain one day… I would have to become immortal… I did not want it to end this way…_

_The Basilisk hissed, Myrtle lay on the floor, dead… it was a necessary sacrifice… Horcrux…_

_Ginny wrote to me through the diary… it was entertaining… possessing her and forcing her to commit atrocities on my behalf… stupid little girl… her life-force would bring me back to true life…_

_My other self, Lord Voldemort, was a disgrace! He had ruined the House of Slytherin! I would find him and cast the Cruciatus Curse on him!_

_I stood on the balcony, thinking about what Harry had told me… being locked in a room and slowly starved to death for the crime of being a wizard… empathy…_

_The apathy returned… I felt empty… nothing mattered… boring, boring, boring…_

_I was standing in a rugged wasteland. Sharp rocks jutted from the ground towards the dark sky where heavy clouds reached down. The wind was strong, almost a storm. I trudged forward, the chill of the wind reaching my very bones._

_I could not see anything that lived. There were no people, no birds, not a blade of grass. Everything was dead, except me, the only immortal inhabitant of the world after everyone and everything else had died. I was doomed to wander the wastes forever, with hunger, weariness, and apathy as my only companions._

_On and on I went, witnessing an unlimited number of alterations of the same dead landscape. It felt as if I had been going on for millennia. On and on I went, until I could not even comprehend it all._

_I arrived at a shore of a lake. Great waves crashed to the shoreline, spraying cold water on my robes. I forced myself to look up, and the mountains looked familiar. I turned around and saw the place that had been most dear to me: Hogwarts, now but a ruin. It was not the Hogwarts I remembered, but a twisted, nightmarish reflection of it._

_I continued my bitter journey, and saw the ruins of Hogsmeade. I continued, on and on, with no hurry to go anywhere. I had an eternity to see these places in their horrible state._

_Amidst the ruins of London I found what was left of Diagon Alley. It was as if Grindelwald's Muggle subjects had returned to destroy everything. The house I had purchased was but a shell, its windows looking like the eye sockets of a skull._

_I continued towards where I knew the Ministry of Magic had been located. There I found a massive crater in the ground. That was the most horrible place I had seen during my endless journey. It was as if the entire devastation had originated in there._

_I stepped down the side of the crater. In the centre was the only building that remained intact: an ancient archway with a sharp point. A tattered veil hung from it, still, not moving anymore._

_The Veil of Death, located in the Department of Mysteries, said to be __built by the people of Atlantis during the golden age of magic as__ a gateway to the Otherworld._

"_I knew you would come one day," said a low, reverberating voice._

_I turned to look for its source._

_In front of me I saw a robed figure standing, the robe blacker than the pitchest black. Two crimson eyes blazed as they looked down at me from the angelically perfect face, the skin pearly white._

_He was the being known to all cultures around the world. In the magical culture, a story was told about the three brothers who had encountered him._

_He was Death._

"_Tom Riddle. You were determined to escape me. And look at you now! You come to me begging for a release of the curse of immortality. Do you understand why? It was not you who conquered this world; I did! You are the last one to be collected to the other side. When this dead world ceases to please you, feel free to join me in your next great adventure."_

_He faded away._

_I turned to face the Veil again. With a few steps, I crossed to the other side._

_It was a relief._

* * *

"Harry! Tom! Are you all right?"

As my consciousness began to return, I found myself sprawling on a floor and a heavy weight right on top of me. I groaned and tried to move my numb limbs.

Soon the weight was lifted away, and only a moment later I was helped up and put sitting on a bench. I blinked my eyes.

Oh yes, I was on the train, the train was moving again, and the lights were working too. Ginny, Ron, Hermione, and the now-awake Professor Lupin were looking at me and Harry who looked as miserable as I felt myself. So, I had not been the only one whom the Dementor had sucked unconscious, but I had been the first one to fall; Harry had collapsed on top of me and not the other way around. Normally, I would have been embarrassed by this sign of weakness, but at that moment I could not care less, because a little embarrassment was literally nothing next to the horror I had just experienced in the vision.

"A Dementor," I whimpered with a voice that sounded to my own ears more like Ginny's than my own. "What – why?"

"Searching the train for Sirius Black," said Professor Lupin. "Here, take some chocolate, it will help you. Excuse me, I'll have to speak to the driver."

He handed us large chunks of chocolate and I ate mine with haste. Some of the lingering coldness disappeared. Professor Lupin knew what he was doing; apparently he was more competent than I had judged by his clothing.

The children began to speak about the horrible experience of encountering their first Dementor, but I withdrew to my thoughts. I could still see glimpses of the vision of a dead world. Was there a moral to the story?

As I recovered from the after-effects of Dementor exposure, I felt like waking up and seeing the colours of the world as bright as they were. It was as if I had not completely woken up in the Chamber of Secrets, but the last stupor of Horcrux hibernation had still lingered until the Dementor had violently wrenched me fully awake. And in that new awareness, I realized that I was in many ways different person compared to the one who had ordered Slytherin's Basilisk to kill Myrtle.

I looked at Ginny. She looked worried and distressed; the Dementor must have affected her badly.

Ginny had poured her heart to my diary, and it had nourished me. Over the months I had become stronger and stronger, eventually strong enough to start stealing her life-force. It was her soul that my soul (or, rather, the fragment I still had), had tried to devour. Eventually, she had been saved by the timely appearance of Professor Lockhart, but…

What if some part of her soul had stayed with me?

Now that I considered that, it explained so many things. When I had looked at Ginny's dying form, I had recalled Myrtle's death and considered it tragic. I had been uncharacteristically dismayed upon learning of the bleak fates of my former school friends. One short excursion to the Muggle world had totally changed my previous anti-Muggle view. I had accepted Tom as my name although I had hated it prior to being locked in the diary. I had learned to feel empathy. I had accepted that Muggle-born wizards were not inferior.

Changes like these could not happen this quickly with just new information and perspective. People were stubborn, admitting their misconceptions did not happen this easily.

_Ginny had changed me!_

I felt tainted. I felt chained. Ginny, that foolish little girl, had contaminated me with her sentimental defects!

But then I realized something. Ginny did not suffer from apathy, the horrible state of mind that I desperately tried to flee. She did not have the cynical, nihilistic worldview I had. She was naive, that was a certainty, but that naivety appeared to be a reliable defence against apathy.

Was that a defect? Or, rather, a _strength?_

What was it that I had thought to myself when meeting Harry for the first time in Little Whinging?

_Love is just one emotion among many._ _The most powerful emotion, or at least the most influential, is greed._

While it was undeniable that greed and ambition were the most important emotions that gave human beings the drive to reach heights and brave dangers, maybe I had underestimated the relevance of more sentimental emotions. Most people did not pursue greatness just for their own good. They cared for their family, or their nation, or some more abstract thing like religion or ideology. Those people who only cared for themselves were troubled by apathy and tried to flee from it, usually to no avail.

The vision flashed again in my mind. The barren, dead landscape… everyone and everything else dead…

I did not want that.

I did not want to flee my misery to the other side of the Veil.

I would embrace any sentimental defect necessary if it just spared me of the fate of creating my own hell.

As I followed the children out of the train and saw the familiar sight of Hogsmeade railway station, my thoughts drifted to my great ancestor, Salazar Slytherin. He had cared about other people. That sentimentality had not prevented him from being the greatest wizard of his time. He was my paragon; if something had been acceptable to him, it should be to me too.

I was still Slytherin through and through. Ginny had not turned me into a Gryffindor. She had just fixed something in me that had been broken or missing; at least, that was what I tried to convince myself of.

_To be a Slytherin is to be pragmatic._

This was who I was. I did not feel sympathy towards what I might be in imaginary circumstances. There was no particular reason I would miss being the Tom Riddle prior to making the Horcrux. And there were quite a number of reasons why I did not feel sympathy towards Voldemort, the disgrace to the name of Slytherin my other self had become.

Slytherins adapted. I would adapt to these Ginny-influences.

After all, anything could be an opportunity.

* * *

Published on the 28th of September, 2019.


	11. Homecoming

Chapter 11

HOMECOMING

The platform was full of Hogwarts students, the first-years going to the boats, others looking for their carriages. Although I disliked crowds, there was something very nostalgic about it. Hogsmeade station when it was dark had always boded well; in daylight, it bode many long weeks of misery.

We found our way to the road that led to Hogsmeade and Hogwarts and waited for our turn to board a carriage.

"Do you know what those creatures are?" Ron asked me and pointed at the carriages. "Harry and I saw them in June when we were leaving, but Hermione and Ginny say they can't see them."

"They are the Thestrals," I mumbled absently. "They've always drawn the carriages. Only those who've seen death and comprehended it can see them. You two saw Lockhart dying."

The silent, skeletal horses looked very ominous indeed. Their strange connection to death made me wonder if they somehow originated from the other side of the Veil.

Once in the carriage, I looked out of the window and tried to see a glimpse of Hogsmeade and tried to ignore the worried glances that Ginny, Hermione, and Ron gave Harry and me. I was still shivering a little, and cast a few Warming Charms on the carriage. To my relief, my magic worked again.

Soon we approached the two statues of winged boars that marked the entrance to the grounds of Hogwarts. There were Dementors standing on both sides of the gate. As our carriage drew closer to them, I could feel their aura of cold and misery affecting me again. I closed my eyes and concentrated on meditation used in Occlumency training. I tried to imagine a peaceful piece of music I had played with my violin. That imagination failed spectacularly as I saw another vision, one where Death was playing _Danse macabre_ by Camille Saint-Saëns… _Wait, is Death a violinist?_

We passed the Dementors soon enough and I cast the Warming Charm again. Once the carriage stopped, I opened the door and stepped out. In front of me stood the magnificent form of Hogwarts, the place that housed my fondest memories. I could feel the last effects of the Dementors fading. The lights in the castle's windows were like a Patronus to me.

"We're home," I said to Harry who returned a slight smile.

Inside, as the flock of students was entering the Great Hall, I spotted a member of staff, a witch with stern looks, and went to talk to her. I had to keep up appearances.

"Professor," I said. "My name is Tom Valedro. I'm the transfer student from the Private Wizarding Academy of New Zealand."

"Welcome to Hogwarts, Mr Valedro," the witch said. "I am Professor McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress. As you might know, there are four Houses for the students of Hogwarts. The first-year students are arriving shortly. Come to the Great Hall with them, and your Sorting will take place after them."

I stayed in the Entrance Hall, looking at all the familiar details. It was as if I had never been away.

Soon, the first-years were herded to the Great Hall, and I followed them. I could not help but feel quite nervous as I walked nearer the single greatest threat to my continued existence: Dumbledore. I triple checked that my disguising charms had not been dispelled by the Dementor. The children formed a few lines near the High Table, and I stood behind them, leaning to the wall, eyeing the Hall and the people sitting in there, heart pounding in my chest. No attack against me occurred.

As the first-year students were Sorted, my eyes studied the current members of Hogwarts staff. Only four of them were familiar to me from my life prior to being trapped in the diary. Professor Dumbledore, who had introduced me to the wizarding world, was sitting on the Headmaster's throne, his hair and beard now longer than before and silvery coloured, and his eyes twinkling as unnervingly as ever. Professor Vector, who had taught me Arithmancy, was still there, and I wondered if I should tell her about certain Muggle devices. Professor Babbling, who taught Ancient Runes, I had known as a bright Ravenclaw prefect. And of course, there was Rubeus Hagrid, whose wizard career had ended so that mine could have continued. One teacher who I was familiar with was not present: Professor Binns, whose classes I had skipped after realizing that I had learned better by simply reading the textbooks.

When watching the other professors, I tried to remember what Ginny had told me about them. McGonagall was the Head of House Gryffindor, although nothing in her seemed very Gryffindorish. Had her experiences in the war against Voldemort changed her? She was known of her competence: no student had ever died in her class, which was an accomplishment few Transfigurations professors achieved. Professor Flitwick was Ginny's favourite teacher; apparently he had not inherited the grim temperament from his Goblin ancestors. Professor Sprout was a boringly common Hufflepuff; there was nothing interesting about her. Professor Sinistra taught Astronomy, but Ginny had not told me much about her, perhaps because she had been half asleep during those nocturnal classes. Professor Lupin seemed quite intelligent, so why had he taken the cursed job of teaching Defence? About the professor of Muggle Studies I knew nothing about. Present were also the Healer, the librarian, the flying instructor, and the caretaker. But where were the professors of Divination and Magical Creatures?

And then there was Professor Snape, about whom Ginny had complained after almost every single one of his classes. I had been shocked to learn that he had been a double agent in the war. Igor Karkaroff had identified him as a Death Eater, but Dumbledore had assured the Wizengamot that Snape had changed his allegiance. Snape was another teacher who had succeeded in preventing fatal accidents in his classes, and that meant he was Professor Slughorn's equal as a Potions Master, but still his presence at Hogwarts seemed suspicious to me. He clearly disliked children and did not know how to handle them adequately. Students wanted him to get fired, and their parents probably wanted that as well. A Potions Master of Snape's calibre did not need to work in a school if he did not want to. Was it possible that Dumbledore wanted to have his agent around him all the time? What could be the reason for that?

Snape was also the Head of House Slytherin. He was in charge of training the Slytherins to follow Salazar's example, but he had failed. According to Ginny, he imposed Slytherins with lax discipline while sneering at Gryffindors. It was Voldemort who had shown Slytherins a bad example, but Snape who had taught them to follow it. Now that Voldemort was hiding somewhere, Snape was the main obstacle in my mission. I would have to destroy and disgrace him, but not immediately. Ideally, I would replace him as a Hogwarts professor and as the Head of House Slytherin. That meant he would have two or three years of respite.

Eventually all of the first-year students were Sorted. It had taken quite a long time, because there had been a significant baby boom just after Voldemort's defeat, and that had made the 1982 age group the largest in wizarding Britain in generations.

Many students were eyeing me curiously. When the last child had taken her place in her House table, Professor McGonagall cleared her throat.

"This year we have a rare yet not unheard of occasion," she said. "Mr Tom Valedro has studied magic for five years in the Private Wizarding Academy of New Zealand. He will complete his education here at Hogwarts, starting as a Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Test level student. But first, he must be Sorted to one of our Houses. Please, Mr Valedro."

She gestured towards the stool and held the Sorting Hat up. I stepped forward, careful not to look at Dumbledore even though I wanted to see his expression when looking at me. At least he had not yet assaulted me, so perhaps I was safe for the moment.

I sat down on the stool, and Professor McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat on my head. I hoped desperately I would not get Sorted in an instant like before.

_Hmmm_, I interpreted an alien thought in my mind. _We've met before, haven't we, Tom Riddle?_

"I am Tom Valedro and I have no idea what you are telepathing about."

_Don't even try to fool me. All information in your mind is available to me._

"That's what I feared. So, are you going to tell Dumbledore about me?"

_I couldn't even if I deemed it absolutely necessary. Hogwarts' Founders designed me to keep all the secrets I learn from the minds of children. My purpose is to Sort children to Houses, not spy for whoever happens to be the Headmaster._

"I'm pleased to know that. So, send me to Slytherin. I have a mission and I can only succeed in my own House."

_Yes, I can see your disappointment in what you once considered your other self and in the ruin that has befallen your House. Believe me, I have seen that happen. Many children strongest with the virtues of Slytherin prefer going to Ravenclaw, while the least virtuous ones don't mind going to Slytherin. It has been going on for years. Are you sure you want to try redeeming your House instead of choosing another path?_

"Of course I'm sure! I am the Heir of Slytherin! It would be an insult to send me to any other House but his!"

_If Salazar was now in your place, he might be one of those who preferred Ravenclaw. And I do not Sort anyone by their ancestors. I Sort them by their own natures. You are determined to redeem your House. That is something a Gryffindor would do._

"Are you deliberately insulting me? It's working, there's no use trying to hide that fact from you."

_No, I am offering you a true alternative. Remember your excursions to the Muggle world. How impressed you were with them. Are you absolutely certain that there is nothing in the virtues of Gryffindor that you could find similarly impressive?_

I actually stopped to consider that seriously.

_You have changed, Tom Riddle. I believe you have guessed right. You took some part of Ginny Weasley last year and integrated it into your own person. You have learned something from her: that compassion and caring for others can be a truly mighty power. The Dementor made you understand this truth._

"Yes, it did," I admitted. Being in telepathic contact with the Sorting Hat felt very different from my previous contact, because I had learned so much about magic, not to mention that the first time the contact had lasted for less than a second. The Hat was not an entirely another entity; it was like a mirror, and I was communicating essentially with myself. The Hat version of me was just totally honest, free of all rationalizations.

"I may be a different person now," I continued. "But at least one thing has not changed at all. I will turn this power of compassion into a tool of achieving my ambitions."

The Sorting Hat sent a telepathic thought of an approving laughter.

_Yes, I know exactly which House welcomes one with that kind of mindset._

"SLYTHERIN!"

The Slytherin table acclaimed as I stood up and gave the Sorting Hat to Professor McGonagall. I looked to the Gryffindor table, where Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione looked disappointed. Well, they would get over it once I began the reforms of the House of Slytherin.

The Slytherin table stretched in the middle in a visually disturbing way to make room for me where the other older students were sitting. My housemates were eyeing me curiously and I returned their glances when I studied what kind of riffraff I would be steering towards the glory of days past. Even though it should not have, it did come to me as a surprise that so many of them were recognizable; I had been to Hogwarts with their grandparents, Malfoy and his minions were not the only ones. (What an eerie thought.)

_That boy has to be a descendant of Nott_, I thought, reminiscing about the scrawny boy who had shared the dormitory with me for five years._ And that girl looks almost exactly like Sidonie Hipworth. I hope she's not as annoying. And hey! He looks like Ruben Macnair! Apparently the sentimental fool managed to find himself a mate after all._

Once I had sat down, Dumbledore stood up. He told the students about the Dementors and announced new professors for Defence Against the Dark Arts and Care of Magical Creatures. I was absolutely dumbfounded when hearing that he had chosen none other than Hagrid to teach Magical Creatures. It was good reminder that Dumbledore was so unpredictable that his stunts could catch his enemies totally off guard. I wondered if he had managed to defeat Grindelwald with such a trick.

For a moment I despaired. I would have to orchestrate Dumbledore's demise very carefully, too carefully even to my taste. Challenges lost much of their charm if my life was a stake.

Once the food appeared, I focused again on my housemates. Sitting next to me was an ugly boy who appeared quite dim-witted. He introduced himself as Marcus Flint, Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team. During the ensuing conversation it turned out that the Slytherins considered him the unofficial leader of the Slytherin student body, a traditional position of esteem which I had claimed in December of 1941, exactly halfway through my Hogwarts education. After a moment of prying I learned that Flint was at Hogwarts for the _eighth_ year, because he had spectacularly failed in his NEWTs.

I had to constrain myself from banging my head on the table. The House of cunning and ambition had allowed this idiot to become their leader? Perhaps he had thought that since the Chamber of Secrets had been opened, the time of Slytherin supremacy was dawning and thus he did not need to study to gain power and prestige. I decided to usurp him during the first week, and to do it with my brains instead of magic.

"I've never heard of the Private Wizarding Academy of New Zealand," growled a boy who had introduced himself as Peregrine Derrick, a sixth-year prefect. "Are there any Mudbloods in there?"

"No," I said. "It was founded just a little more than a hundred years ago by a small group of Slytherins and Ravenclaws who wanted to create a new society based on better principles. It only allows students from its founding families, and that's why very few outsiders ever hear about it. There is no need to advertise."

Many of the Slytherins were mumbling in an appreciative way.

"Funny thing that you wanted to come here," said Flint. "I'd gladly study where there is no Muggle filth around."

_If there was such a place as the Private Wizarding Academy of New Zealand, its headmaster would probably judge someone of your talent a Squib_, I thought in my mind.

"Were all of the Academy's founders British?" asked a fifth-year girl. "Your surname doesn't sound British."

"The founders were British, yes," I said. "But shortly after the Academy was founded some like-minded wizards moved there from other countries as well and integrated into the society. My great-grandfather was a Spaniard, a member of the pure-blood Valedro family."

"But why come here?" Flint insisted.

"The magical society of New Zealand is small and isolated. It's not a place for an ambitious Slytherin. I want to make a difference, and that means I have to come where there are more wizards. Also, it doesn't quite suite my political conviction that we wizards should find ourselves new, unspoilt living space while Muggles claim our lands. Britain has one of the greatest and proudest histories of magical societies. I cannot appreciate my ancestors' decision to give up and establish a pure society somewhere else. They actually abandoned Britain for Muggles and their spawn to take over."

The other Slytherins were staring at me with their eyes wide. Of course, with the current state of this House, no one formulated the ancient Slytherin ideology in such a sophisticated way anymore.

"I've come to realize that the House of Slytherin has a bad attitude," I continued. "We are on the defensive. We expect to lose. We allow someone like Dumbledore to judge us. We express our ideal of a safe future for the magical people as an act of defiance. It is as if even we don't believe that our way is the right way and that it is Dumbledore's side that should be explaining and making excuses for their views."

Everyone within hearing range was still staring at me silently.

"Well… wasn't that what the Dark Lord tried to do?" asked Ethan Jugson, a seventh-year prefect.

"The Dark Lord was either a moron or an impostor," I proclaimed.

"How dare you?" many people hissed while others looked shocked and dismayed.

"I haven't gone through what your families have, and that's why I can see it in an objective way. I'm not sure what exactly he was trying to do, but clearly he failed and caused Dumbledore's party to rise to power. How many pure-blood wizards and witches did he kill? He killed more wizards than Muggles! How many of you lost family members to his magicidal crusade? Because of him every non-Slytherin in this country believes that the protection of pure magical bloodlines means killing people arbitrarily. Some Slytherins think so, too."

They were staring at me, eyes wider than ever. I decided that usurping Flint should not take more time than that very evening.

"Did it never cross to your minds that perhaps the Dark Lord got what he wanted? Come on, he was a snake-man with no history and he vanished suddenly and mysteriously. Clearly "Lord Voldemort" was just a guise used by Albus Dumbledore so that he could rise to power as a hero and wipe out some of the pure-blood aristocracy at the same time. The old goat is more Slytherin than you realize. He has successfully hidden it behind a mask of senility."

As the older Slytherin students were looking at me in dismay, anger, and awe, I knew they were mine. Manipulating idiots was so easy that for a moment I was happy that the sorry state of the House of Slytherin had made many clever children choose Ravenclaw instead.

* * *

Published on the 9th of October, 2019.


	12. Setting the Stage

Chapter 12

SETTING THE STAGE

The Slytherin common room looked cosy and familiar. Fire was blazing in the fireplace, keeping away the cold and dampness of the dungeons. There were many large bookshelves containing books that Slytherins had for ages preferred the members of the other Houses not to read. In the large stained glass windows the figures were playing important moments in the life of Salazar Slytherin. The setting was the same, but the people who lived there had become decadent.

I went to look at the notice board. It was, obviously, empty apart from some official school notifications, but it was disappointing to notice the absence of the room reserved for certain activities I had considered vitally important for the House of Slytherin. There had been the Slytherin Debate Society where we future politicians and demagogues had honed our rhetorical skills. There had also been the Slytherin Book Club where we had read texts by Plato, Machiavelli, Lenin, and many other wizards so notable that they were famous in the Muggle world too. These proud traditions had been abandoned when the Slytherins had begun to imitate Voldemort's blunt, terroristic ways of gaining power. However, even the Slytherin Duelling Club had apparently been disbanded, although that might have been Dumbledore's decision.

Slytherins respected power and wealth, perhaps more than ever, since talents and cunning were no longer equal traits with them. That was why I made sure many of my housemates saw my Firebolt broomstick, a status symbol rather than something I actually needed. Rumour would spread about how the transfer student had the best broomstick money could buy and that would solidify my reputation as one of the elite. At some point I would mention that I had achieved eleven Outstanding OWLs, something that happened on average once in a decade. (Of course, it was better not to tell the Slytherins that I had achieved an Outstanding OWL in Muggle Studies too; to them, it was not a sign of talent and diligence, but a cause of suspicion.)

My dormitory was not the same one where I had lived in before, but an identical one. Sadly, I had to share it with people like Peregrine Derrick and Lucian Bole, both members of the Slytherin Quidditch team. When living in my own house, I had got used to privacy, and sharing a dormitory with others was something that I disliked about Hogwarts. Well, I would quickly subjugate my dormmates into humble minions.

* * *

My first encounter with Severus Snape was during breakfast the next day. Like all sixth-year students, I had to choose the subjects I would be studying for the next two years for my NEWTs, and Snape checked that we had the qualifying OWL grades. I decided to continue studying Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, Herbology, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Ancient Runes, and Arithmancy. I would take the tests for at least History, Astronomy, and Magical Creatures too, but I did not bother to attend the classes.

Of course, I did not _need_ to take any classes at all. I was absolutely certain that I would get an Outstanding grade in every single subject if I took the exams right away. After just three years of education I had estimated that I could have passed most of the NEWTs with at least an Acceptable grade. Hogwarts curriculum was designed for average people, not geniuses like me who had a natural talent for all things magical. However, it was not enough that I had all the skills Hogwarts professors could teach me. I needed everyone to know how talented I was. My main purpose during these two years would be to convince everyone that one day I would be the most powerful wizard in the world. These lesser beings around me would understand that it was in their best interests to join me and enjoy even a small portion of my reflected glory.

I would become the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. I would follow Professor Slughorn's example and slither my way to the centre of wizarding Britain's web of connections. Dumbledore and Voldemort would be dealt with. And in order to avoid getting bored, I would create my new rivals to continue the game forever.

But first things first. Snape was an obstacle, but an interesting one. He was talented and intelligent, there was no doubt about it. He was a perfect Occlumens, and clever enough to wear an unreadable expression at all times; Occlumency was of little use if anyone could interpret the Occlumens' thoughts by looking at his face. But even though the man embodied so many of Slytherin's virtues, he had allowed the House to fall to decadence.

I wondered how Voldemort had managed to curse the position of the Defence Professor. It must have been a very insidious piece of Spell-Crafting, since Dumbledore had not succeeded in doing anything about it in decades. Voldemort had probably designed the curse so that only he could break it or even find where the curse's physical anchor was located. A curse needed a constant supply of magical power or otherwise it would fade in time. Perhaps Voldemort had somehow managed to connect the curse to the wards of Hogwarts so that it used the same well of magic that the wards used to operate. If that was the case, the physical anchor of the curse was without a doubt located in the Chamber of Secrets. Salazar might even have left instructions of how such a thing might be accomplished.

I would just need to break the curse once I got the job. But before that I would switch the curse to destroy Snape.

I was not as good an Occlumens as Snape, but he did not have a clue that I was planning his destruction. Actually, he seemed quite pleased with a student as talented as I was. He even gave me something that could be interpreted as a smile when he welcomed me to the small and prestigious group of NEWT level Potions students.

Potions happened to be my first class. I was one of the four students who had achieved an Outstanding grade in Potions and the right to continue studying the subject. There were also two Ravenclaws and one Hufflepuff, all of them prefects. We all gathered around one table, and Snape sat with us. His attitude was not the one Ginny and Harry had told me about; he showed neither hostility nor condescension, but sincere appreciation, almost collegiality. It did not take me long to realize that he measured the value of people by their potion making skills, not blood status, wealth, or Quidditch talents. The two classes he taught to NEWT level students were probably the only part of his job that he really enjoyed.

I left the class feeling conflicted. Snape would be a powerful ally, but unfortunately he was one of the Slytherins who had grown to believe that Voldemort was the culmination of Slytherin's virtues. This perverted delusion needed to be purged without mercy.

I continued making observations about professors and students during my other classes. Charms, Transfiguration, Ancient Runes, and Arithmancy were the subjects I had studied independently with ambition, and those classes offered me no challenge at all. I made great first impressions on Professors McGonagall and Flitwick by demonstrating all spells non-verbally. During Ancient Runes and Arithmancy I sat in the back of the class, focusing mainly on my own projects instead of wasting my time on the lecture. In Herbology, on the other hand, we studied magical plants I was not very familiar with, because I had never considered the subject as important as the others, and had not studied it independently as much.

Defence Against the Dark Arts was a subject I had not been looking forward to studying. I was aware of the fact that each professor had taught only for a year for a few decades had caused a massive falling of standards. It was currently difficult to find competent teachers for the job; actually impossible, because taking a cursed job was a sign of incompetence. As a result, the entire nation had become less and less capable of taking care of themselves, something Voldemort had probably intended.

I still gave Professor Lupin a chance. Furthermore, as a future professor of the subject, it would be odd if I had not attended its classes in the NEWT years.

Professor Lupin had decided to introduce the students to Dark creatures. It was not new to me; in Professor Merrythought's carefully crafted curriculum they had been the topic of the first year in Defence. But perhaps there was some kind of fitting irony: my classmates happened to have their first decent Defence teacher.

And so I found myself once again facing an ominously shaking wardrobe. A Boggart was supposed to take the form of the viewer's worst fear. I looked curiously how my classmates made it turn into things like a giant spider, a giant serpent, a mummy, and a vampire. Were they really the worst fears of my classmates? Surely things like the deaths of all of their family members, or the destruction of their homes, or a gigantic meteor strike would be much more terrifying.

Or perhaps everyone had misinterpreted a Boggart's actions. It did not show the viewer's greatest fear but something that scared the viewer. Although the death of one's family was a terrible thing, it was much easier to understand as intimidation than a monster that caused a feeling of danger in the very core of human mind.

Boggarts just wanted to be left alone and that was why they took the form that would make the disturber go away and not come back. Obviously Boggarts had some ability of mindreading, but what they lacked was intelligence. They did not know what would really make their disturbers go away. I knew and organized that knowledge as the topmost thought of my mind as my turn came.

I stepped in front of the Boggart. It turned into Gilderoy Lockhart who unleashed a swarm of Cornish Pixies to the classroom. A few seconds later every single student had fled.

"Thank you very much, Mr Valedro," Professor Lupin said sourly after I had explained my realization to him. "Now I must find another Boggart for my other classes. This one now knows the only form it needs to take. If Boggarts were not hermits, it probably would share its knowledge with other Boggarts, and we would have been forced to hunt them to extinction if we were not willing to allow them to claim any wardrobe they wished."

"I'm sorry I caused you trouble," I said, suppressing a smirk. "But I didn't like it that we were bullying a creature that just wanted to be left alone. I could easily relate to it."

Professor Lupin looked at me for a while.

"Perhaps you should be in Gryffindor, Tom," he said.

I blinked, so surprised that I did not even know if it was an insult or not.

* * *

After a few days of settling to the life at Hogwarts, I wrote a message to Harry and asked him to meet me for his first training session. After dinner I climbed all the way to the seventh floor where I found Harry standing in front of the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy and greeting the ghost of Gryffindor Tower, Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, who floated by. I wondered briefly if Sir Nicholas was related to the famous enchanter of the Middle Ages, the one who was called Tim by some. They looked so alike.

"Hello, Harry," I greeted. "How has your term started?"

"Oh, fine. Malfoy's been a git, but that's nothing out of the ordinary."

"Yes, I happened to hear something about his doings. I am trying to make a difference in Slytherin, you know. But enough of that. Today I've got something really interesting for you."

"Um… why are you pacing like that?"

"This is the way the Room of Requirement reveals its door. You have to think hard of what you want of the Room. Ah, there it is!"

The magical door shimmered into existence into the formerly empty wall. I opened it and stepped in. The training hall where I had spent many long weekends was waiting for us.

"Wow," Harry said. "You mean this Room just takes the form you want it to?"

"There are limitations. I think the Room only creates the architecture and the furniture, and if you move something out of here, it will disappear. However, some things, like those books on those shelves, are probably taken from the Hogwarts library. The Room is incapable of creating books out of nothing."

I positioned myself in the middle of the Room and gestured Harry to stand opposite of me.

"But we're not here to read. This is a very practical lesson. You already know the basics of martial arts. Now it is time for wizarding fighting techniques."

"You said you're going to teach me spells."

"And I will, but first you must understand that having a wide repertoire of spells is not enough, not remotely. A battle is always a chaotic situation. Usually there's no time to think what spell to use next. You cannot be ready before you've developed an instinct that makes you do all the right things without conscious thought. Your wand and your magic must become like extensions of your body and physical capabilities. You'll find this to be similar to Quidditch, just focusing on different things."

I raised my wand.

"So, that's how we'll start today. I'll try to strike you with Stinging Hexes, and you must just dodge them. It shouldn't be that different from dodging Bludgers, except now you'll have to control your body instead of a broomstick."

I sent the first one at him, aiming at his left arm to make it easier for him. He jerked to the right and the hex hit the floor behind him. I cast again, progressively making it harder for him. I made him run, jump, crouch, and roll. We continued it for fifteen minutes, until he was panting and was struck by my hexes more often than not.

Without being able to attend the Kwikspell lessons I was unable to practice fighting at my level, but at least I could continue practicing aiming at a moving target. Better than nothing.

"We'll repeat this drill every time we meet here," I said. "Agility and stamina are vitally important even in magical combat, something many wizards overlook. Your advantage against Sirius Black is that he's badly out of practice… for now."

I turned to look at the targeting dummies that formed a line near one of the walls. The Room had helpfully made them look like Sirius Black.

"So, spells. There are lots of spells used in combat, but unfortunately they do not seem to be a part of the Defence Against the Dark Arts courses. You told me that you know only the Disarming Charm. It's not very useful compared to these. Look: the Stunning Charm. _Stupefy!_"

A red bolt of light struck one of the dummies.

"It is very useful for those who want to take their enemies alive and unharmed, probably the most used spell in an Auror's arsenal. However, there are other spells with almost similar use. The Impediment Jinx, for instance. _Impedimenta!_ Or the Full Body-Bind Curse. _Petrificus Totalus!_ Do you know why?"

"No, I don't. I'd rather master one spell perfectly."

"When fighting, it's important to be unpredictable. If you always use one spell, your enemy will learn to react accordingly. But I do recommend using mostly the Stunning Charm. Its incantation is much shorter and that makes it far more effective in battle."

"_Stupefy!_" Harry said and waved his wand, but nothing happened.

"Patience," I said. "I'm not asking you to cast any of these spells today. I'm just showing you what spells I'm going to teach you during these lessons. Next I'll show you some spells that are more dangerous than the first three. The Reductor Curse creates a force that can destroy solid objects. You must be careful when using this; it can be lethal when used against a living target. _Reducto!_"

The target dummy I had chosen for the demonstration blew out.

"But that was little compared to the Blasting Curse," I continued. "_Confringo!_"

The next target dummy was engulfed in roaring flames. When they died out, nothing remained of the dummy but charred remains scattered all over the Room.

"One thing that Hogwarts' teachers do not want the students to know is that Battle Magic is not a separate magical discipline," I said. "Otherwise students would get funny ideas about using the spells taught in Charms and Transfiguration creatively. If you want to become a great fighter, one who can defeat Death Eaters and Voldemort himself, you must be able to combine all your magical skills and utilize them in battle. Most of the spells taught in Charms are meant to ease everyday life. However, some of them are easy to weaponize. The Severing Charm, for example. _Diffindo!_"

The head of one of the dummies detached and fell to the floor.

"Or the very basic Fire-Making Spell. _Incendio!_"

The headless dummy caught fire.

"I learned this when studying Muggle history: every time something is invented, the military always tries to find out ways of using it for military purposes. That's my approach to spells. Do you remember when I told you about my Spell-Crafting project? I've now managed to master my first creation, the reverse spell of the normal Levitation Charm. I call it the Gravity Amplifying Charm. It may seem harmless, but it can be used in combat."

Harry did not seem entirely convinced until I cast the spell on him. He groaned as I slowly made him weight more.

"Running under that effect does not seem nice, does it?"

"Absolutely not," Harry admitted.

"These are the things I'll be teaching you. Black will be of no match for you when you know how to fight, how to use your skills effectively, and to use the Dark Arts for your purposes."

"The Dark Arts?" Harry looked suddenly very apprehensive. "You think I would use them?"

"Of course. Why not?"

"But… they're just the thing I'm opposed to! I don't want to become like my enemies!"

"Oh, I see. You're under the impression that the Dark Arts are essentially evil, and that whoever uses them is evil as well."

"Yes, exactly. Isn't that the whole point? That's why there's Defence Against the Dark Arts as a mandatory subject at Hogwarts."

"Many ways of defending against the Dark Arts are Dark Arts, too. Don't you realize that every single Jinx, Hex, and Curse is Dark? You told me how Hermione used the Full Body-Bind Curse on Neville Longbottom when you were going to protect the Philosopher's Stone. She used the Dark Arts, Harry."

"That's ridiculous. _Petrificus Totalus _is totally harmless."

"Oh, sure, it's all good fun now that everyone knows the counter-spell, but no one was laughing when the Parkinsons used it to bury their political enemies alive. No, Harry, it's not the skill that's evil. Let me explain. There are three Unforgivable Curses: the Imperius Curse that takes total control of the victim's mind, the Cruciatus Curse that causes unbearable pain, and the Killing Curse that kills the victim instantly. Ghosts who died through the Killing Curse tell that it's totally painless. It just stops all body functions and banishes the soul to the Otherworld. Why is that worse than this? _Reducto!_"

One of the target dummies burst in half.

"Tell me, Harry, why the painless Killing Curse is considered one of the most evil of magics, but the Reductor Curse is taught at Hogwarts."

I did not wait for him to guess anything.

"It's because you have to _mean _the Unforgivable Curses. You can only cast the Killing Curse if you want the victim dead, but not in order to prevent some greater evil. You must want the victim dead for the sake of being dead; the spell is fuelled by hate! You can only cast the Cruciatus Curse if you want to torture the victim for the sake of torture. You can only cast the Imperius Curse if you want to subjugate the victim for the sake of subjugating. Not everyone can learn to use these spells, but any wizard can learn to use the milder Dark Arts. They can be used for good, just like basic spells like the Severing Charm can be used to kill and torture people."

I let the words sink in.

"Let me give you a warning. History knows many Dark witches and wizards who believed that evil was in certain spells, not in the methods they used. By not using those spells they were convinced that they were always on the good side. They never had to consider the ethics of their actions. And often they were among the most horrible people in the history of magic. Do not follow their path, Harry. Use any spells you find necessary, but use them for good. If you don't use the Dark Arts, you give your enemies an advantage. That cannot be considered good."

I was not sure Harry had listened to my words. His eyes were unfocused as he was contemplating something.

"The Killing Curse is fuelled by hate?" he said after a while. "That's what Voldemort used, right?"

"Yes, it was his favourite. You're the only known survivor of a properly cast Killing Curse, thanks to your mother's sacrifice."

Harry shook his head.

"I was one year old. How could he hate a child enough to use the Killing Curse?"

"Voldemort is a twisted man," I said simply, but did not tell him the secret I knew.

The Killing Curse did not necessarily need hate as fuel. Another state of mind could be used just as well, and Voldemort had turned it into a weapon, because he hardly cared about anyone enough to even hate them. It was the state of mind I constantly tried to flee from: apathy.

* * *

Published on the 20th of October, 2019.


	13. A Lesson in Politics

Chapter 13

A LESSON IN POLITICS

As I had told Harry, I had continued my efforts to make a difference in the House of Slytherin. The most important part of my plan was to talk some sense to Draco Malfoy, and I had planned to initiate a conversation with him in order to start turning him into my puppet, but he had not come to the Slytherin common room in the evening of the first day of school. Not wanting to appear too interested in him, I had settled for listening to the other third-year Slytherins to learn about his whereabouts.

Malfoy had happened to be the main topic of their heated discussion. He had been attacked and almost killed by a Hippogriff during their first lesson of Magical Creatures. Although I admitted that Hippogriffs were quite overkill for the first lesson, I had my doubts about Malfoy being attacked without any fault on his part.

I had sighed heavily and continued reading my post-Hogwarts level textbook. If Malfoy was anything like his most devout advocate in the matter, Pansy Parkinson, I had much coaching to do. I could not accept it if my future puppet was remembered as a pathetic, whining, and Hippogriff-maimed dolt. I was judged by people I associated with, and if someone made me look bad… well, I thought I would quickly decide they were more useful as Basilisk feed. After all, it was my steadfast conviction that we people have an obligation towards a millennium-old living relic. Without human sacrifices we would lose all that was passed down to us.

* * *

Malfoy spent several days in the hospital wing, much to my growing irritation. However, I knew how to use the wasted time to advance my plan to some extent. Every evening, when I discreetly taught the other Slytherins the real methods of Salazar, I made sure Miss Parkinson was included in my audience. I used my talent of charming impressionable young ladies, and Parkinson quickly showed enthusiasm in what I told about tricking gullible people like Hufflepuffs. Then I used Legilimency to plant in her mind the decision to speak highly of me to Malfoy.

When Malfoy finally returned to the common room, one of his arms was heavily bandaged and he acted like a survivor of a glorious battle. I was pretty sure any non-fatal injury that a Hippogriff could cause could have been healed magically faster than this. The brat was using this as an opportunity to score sympathy points. Pathetic!

After suffering his childish behaviour for longer than was healthy I noticed from the corner of my eye him coming closer and sitting down on an armchair on the other side of the table in front of me. I showed him his place by not paying any attention to him before he addressed me.

"Mr Valedro," he said. "Pansy has told me that you have shared many interesting insights with your fellow Slytherins."

"That is correct, Mr Malfoy," I said, looking up from my book. "The Private Wizarding Academy of New Zealand takes great pride in teaching the Slytherin way of thinking to young witches and wizards. There is even a mandatory subject for it – Manipulative Studies."

"Wow," Malfoy said, clearly impressed. "Meanwhile this sorry excuse for a school teaches Muggle Studies instead." He made a disgusted face. "It all goes down to Dumbledore."

"Yes, he has made some very eccentric decisions running this school. I can't imagine anyone else who'd've hired Hagrid to teach Magical Creatures. I've heard he has a cognitive deficit, a blind spot when it comes to interesting creatures. And he thinks that the more dangerous a creature is, the more interesting it is. Wasn't he expelled from Hogwarts because he let Slytherin's Monster loose to attack and kill other students?"

"Yes, exactly, and now he's intent on continuing as a teacher." Malfoy smirked. "Well, I'm going to bring him down. This Hippogriff incident will be his undoing. My father has already contacted the Ministry. The beast will be executed in no time."

"I'm sorry you happened to deal with the crazy one," I said, ready to use Legilimency to steer the conversation to the direction I wanted. "I heard the other Hippogriffs didn't endanger the students."

"Well," Malfoy said, smirking more than ever. "I don't think the Hippogriff was crazier than the others. I might've insulted him just a little bit."

I stared him, and his smirk faded a little.

"So, you know you caused the incident by not following the explicit order?" I said calmly.

"Well, yes," he admitted reluctantly.

I closed the book I had been reading, finally signalling that I was fully concentrating on our conversation.

"Slytherins always do things for a reason," I said, acting curious and not at all disapproving. "What is your grand plan behind this Hippogriff incident?"

"Well, I can get the oaf fired and his pet executed," he said slowly, clearly understanding my point.

"And what good is that to you?"

"At least it will make Potter, Weasley, and Granger furious. And my father will have revenge for being sacked from the Board of Governors."

"There truly is great hostility between you and the Gryffindor trio."

"Why do you care?" Malfoy narrowed his eyes. "You sat with them on the Express. Why? Don't tell me you're one of the fans of the saintly Boy Who Lived?"

I sighed dramatically.

"I am interested in him, of course I am," I said. "He is prestigious in wizarding Britain and that is something any clever person tries to use to his advantage. I am acting like a true Slytherin does. The boy is easily manipulated. I don't make fun of him the way you do, Malfoy. I'll make him a willing part of my plan, and once I am done… he will make fun of himself on my behalf."

Malfoy seemed quite taken aback by my cleverness.

"Do tell me more," he said, intrigued.

_Ha_, I thought. _You're now my pawn, Malfoy._

Most of the Slytherin students had gathered around our table and were listening. That was good. I could turn this conversation into a proper lesson for all of them.

"I've heard your family is very powerful, Draco," I said, shifting to first name basis. "Perhaps the most powerful single family in wizarding Britain, and has been for generations. Is this not true?"

"It is true," Malfoy assured me smugly.

"Then why is it that your father, Lucius Malfoy, is not the most powerful politician? Why is Dumbledore, and not him, the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and the leader of the majority coalition? Why has your father failed repeatedly in taking power?"

Malfoy looked offended, as if I had accused him of something instead of just asking him questions.

"It's Dumbledore," he spat. "The old fool is the great hero of Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and Ravenclaws. There is no way any Slytherin could gain so much support from the other Houses that it would be enough to gain a majority. My father is doing the best he can."

"But why is there such a divide between Slytherins and the other Houses?"

"Well… the House rivalry is an ancient tradition. Maybe it's not so in New Zealand if there really were just Slytherins and a few Ravenclaws who established the society as you told… but this is how things are in Britain. The other Houses are jealous of us and they're easily fooled by a hypocrite like Dumbledore."

"That may all be true," I said. "But neither of the reasons assesses any fault on Slytherins themselves. I refuse to believe there is nothing your father could do better – and you in the future as his successor."

"What d'you mean?"

"I mean that the way you treat other students at Hogwarts will greatly affect your reputation for your entire life. I don't know how your father behaved in his school years, but if it was anything like your behaviour, it's no wonder he hasn't been able to create a majority coalition. When you and Harry Potter graduate both of you will rise to powerful positions in wizarding Britain. He'll be remembered as a vanquisher of a Dark Lord, a Quidditch prodigy, and a generally pleasant person, much like Dumbledore whose position he'll inherit one day. You, on the other hand, may be remembered as an arrogant, bullying idiot who was hospitalized by a Hippogriff!" My voice had become loud and harsh. "Don't you understand what you're doing? You're making sure that you'll follow your father as the leader of the opposition, one who is incapable of uniting other factions into a majority coalition!"

Malfoy's expression had gone from confused to insulted to almost panicking.

"Dumbledore is watching your doings and no doubt laughs at you. He allows Snape not to discipline you and to create tension between Slytherin and the other Houses, because it serves his political purposes! I have to say that I'm greatly disappointed in Slytherin. Our political faction has been outsmarted by Dumbledore for decades. This is supposed to be the House of cunning and not of childish troublemaking. We Slytherins should have the right mindset for steering a nation towards greatness, but right now we're the opposition and will remain so if we do not change our ways!"

"He's right, Malfoy," said Ethan Jugson, the level-headed seventh-year prefect whom I had convinced at the Start-of-Term Feast. Many other students nodded.

"So…" Malfoy said, searching for more words. "What are you suggesting I do?"

"You cease this stupid game of yours and begin to treat students of other Houses with feigned respect. You've already wasted your first impression on them and two years' worth of later impressions. That means you have a hard campaign of improving your reputation ahead of you, but five years should be more than enough."

Malfoy looked nauseated, but also a little embarrassed.

"And for how long should I be playing the role of a Gryffindor?" he asked.

"You already know the answer to that question," I answered ominously. "_Forever_. Oh, I know what you're thinking. Teasing Potter and his friends is so amusing that you don't want to stop it. I assure you, it will get better. Gryffindors easily think good of other people and that's a flaw in their character that you can exploit. Once you fool them into becoming a part of your plan, the joke will be on them forever. You don't need to make fun of them yourself. You just need to watch how they take care of it themselves. That's the endgame of a real Slytherin, and as much as I hate to admit it that's the situation Dumbledore has forced us into."

"And if we succeed in that plan of yours, what will we achieve?" asked a fifth-year student.

"Why, the total control of wizarding Britain, of course," I said.

"But," Malfoy said. "If our future power will be based on fooling them, how can we ever get anything done? I mean, if we ban Mudbloods from Hogwarts, they'll immediately realize that we were just fooling them. Then we'll be back at the starting point, except that they'll be expecting us to trick them again."

"I'm glad you pointed that out," I said. "Ever since moving to Britain a few months ago I've been thinking that we Slytherins are thinking too small. The world doesn't stay the same and we must react to it. In Britain we've had the same dispute about preserving the purity of blood for a millennium. What do you know about Muggles, Draco?"

"They're little more than animals," Malfoy said. "They work in the fields doing what we do with magic or make house-elves do for us. They're illiterate, violent drunkards, and they hate magic."

"And how many Muggles have you met?"

"None," he said. "Well, I saw Granger's parents last year."

"The magical society of New Zealand is very isolated," I described my false origin. "I had never seen a Muggle before I came to Britain, but then I was shocked beyond words. I'm afraid that what you told about Muggles was true in the seventeenth century, when we separated our society from theirs. But it's not true anymore, at least not in Europe. Do you know what the words _science_ and _technology_ mean?"

"Um… no."

"They're a kind of substitute for magic. Some Muggles appear to be very creative. As they have no magic to help them, they have experimented and created machines to improve their way of living. Look at that!"

I pointed at the clock on the wall.

"A clock," I said. "It's originally a Muggle device, and now one can be found in the common room of the House of Slytherin."

Most of my audience seemed shocked.

"And that!" I pointed at the door leading to the lavatory. "Plumbing. Also created by Muggles. Hogwarts Express – Muggles. The Knight Bus, a motor vehicle – Muggles. A camera, which the _Daily Prophet_ uses to create pictures – Muggles. All of our school books are printed by a printing press – Muggles. There are Muggle inventions all around us!"

"Should we get rid of them?" Malfoy asked.

"Just because they have origins in the Muggle world?" I asked sharply. "That's just what I mean by thinking too small. They were not a problem to you before I informed you about their origins. We must stop viewing the Muggles as little more than animals, because they're a very serious threat to our very existence. These devices I've pointed out were just some of them. Let me show you what Muggles are really capable of!"

I took out my wand and waved it in the intricate pattern required for the Illusion Charm. A mist gathered in the air, forming a solid-looking figure of a handgun.

"Do you know what that is?"

"No idea," Malfoy said, studying the illusion in confusion.

"I've seen a picture of one of those," someone remarked.

"It's a Muggle weapon," I said. "Inside there is a small piece of metal called a bullet and also powder that burns so fast it's used as an explosive. When it burns, the combustion gas will push the bullet through the barrel."

My magic pulled the illusory gun's trigger. Every single Slytherin jumped in shock at the sound of the gunshot.

"The bullet moves fast," I explained. "So fast it's impossible to react to it. Unlike many offensive spells, it can't be seen. It's easier to aim a gun than a wand. And it's lethal, every bullet is like a Reductor Curse. But a handgun is one of the least effective of modern Muggle weapons."

The illusion changed its form, turning into an assault rifle.

"This one fires much larger bullets and is much more precise." The assault rifle turned into a machine gun. "How many Reductor Curses can you cast in sixty seconds? Weapons like this can shoot over a thousand just as effective bullets in that time. And it doesn't take years of education to learn to use it. It doesn't even take an hour."

Malfoy could not have looked more horrified even if I had claimed that Dumbledore possessed the most powerful magical weapon in the world. But I was not finished yet. The machine gun turned into a grenade, then a flamethrower, then a land mine, then miniature versions of an artillery weapon, a tank, a submarine, a cruise missile, and a fighter aircraft. I ended my presentation with showing an illusion of a mushroom cloud and telling them about the fates of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, about Tsar Bomba, and about the exclusion zone around Chernobyl.

"Are Muggles enemies you should underestimate?" I asked.

"No," Malfoy said, his face much paler than usual. "I think I'm writing to my father about this. What can we do about the threat?"

"We must do what Grindelwald tried to do. To stop hiding, to stop bickering about trivialities, and to infiltrate the Muggle society. We must take total control of these weapons in order to prevent anyone from using them against us. We must rule the world with the magical power we command, to become the Guardian class Plato described in the _Republic_. That's my ambition. It was a mistake to isolate the magical society from the Muggle one."

"How?" Malfoy said, staring miserably at the table. "How did the swords and spears turn into those?"

"That's the trick with science. We wizards have been teaching known skills to new generations, but the Muggle scientists have been exploring the previously unknown. It's what they consider the greatest virtue. That way they've learned many laws of nature, many properties of materials and substances, and used that knowledge to create wonders. Think about it this way: if Salazar Slytherin had known that the scientists would invent these kinds of weapons as well as ways of flying, communicating across the world in real-time, and healing fatal diseases and injuries, would he have called it magic? I think he would have. Science is different magic from ours, but it's still magic. That's why I respect the scientists. They will have their places in the new world order – the world ruled by magic, science, and technology!"

"I've heard that this Muggle stuff… this, ahh, technology has trouble working around magic," a seventh-year student pointed out.

"The trouble is with electronics," I explained. "It's a very delicate branch of technology, and ambient magic easily makes it malfunction. Many of the weapons I showed you use electronics, but it's not necessary. Firearms would work just fine here at Hogwarts."

"Why don't you tell your theory about the Dark Lord to the rest of us, Valedro?" Jugson asked. "It was very interesting, at least."

"All right. But I wouldn't like any one of you telling about it to anyone else. Whether I'm right or not, certain people might get upset if they heard about it."

"We don't talk much with members of the other Houses," someone said while many people were nodding.

"What about the Dark Lord?" Malfoy asked.

"I've come to suspect that Lord Voldemort and Albus Dumbledore were secretly the same person," I said. There was a chorus of gasps, both when they heard the forbidden name and when they heard the rest of it. "Just think about the facts!" I exclaimed as several people cried in protest. "Voldemort had no history whatsoever, he just appeared out of nothing!" (It was a very, _very _good thing that my once other self had wanted to remain a mystery, otherwise it would have been much more difficult to convince people about this theory.) "Keep in mind that Dumbledore never confronted Voldemort even though that course of action had worked perfectly against Grindelwald. Voldemort didn't really fight for the wizardkind, you know how many pure-bloods he killed! And just when the nation was in the need of a miracle, he disappeared, supposedly being defeated by Harry Potter. How can anyone believe a story as far-fetched as this? Dumbledore, the leader of the victorious side, wasted no time in taking all the power into his hands!"

There was utter silence in the common room. My eyes swept over the Slytherin crowd in a dramatic fashion.

"Doesn't that sound familiar to you? It was the same Dumbledore who became a hero by defeating Grindelwald. Clearly, after a few decades he decided that British wizards should be reminded of who the hero was. Thus, a new, even more horrible Dark Lord emerged just to be thwarted by the heroic actions of Dumbledore. He has obviously chosen Potter to be his successor, that's why he made sure the majority of British wizards consider the boy a living miracle. However, Voldemort did not truly die. Of course not, he's still out there somewhere, waiting for an opportunity to return. Mark my words: that will happen when people once again get tired enough of Dumbledore and he decides it's again time to play the role of a hero and a strong leader. I find it ironic that we ought to learn a lesson of being Slytherin from Dumbledore of all people."

Malfoy looked like a small child whose entire world had collapsed in a matter of minutes.

"Take your time digesting that," I said. "There's no need to take action on that front any time soon. And it doesn't change our purpose. Dumbledore must fall. The first thing we must do is to take his most important pawn, Harry Potter, away from him."

"You've given me much to think about," Malfoy said. "I agree with much of what you've said. I see now that I've not been as Slytherin as I should've been. This… this schoolyard squabble is beneath me when the entire wizarding world is at risk."

"Yes, the Hippogriff incident," I said. "Well, this is what I suggest that you do next…"

* * *

I was under the Disillusionment Charm when I followed the third-year Slytherins out of the castle to their Care of Magical Creatures class. The Gryffindors were already gathering around Hagrid's hut. Malfoy approached them confidently, his arm no longer bandaged. Crabbe and Goyle were following him as usual, and the other Slytherins were just a few paces behind them.

"Potter," Malfoy said. "Weasley. Granger."

"What?" Ron snapped as they turned to face the Slytherins.

Malfoy took a deep breath.

"I want to apologise to you… for my behaviour. I've not acted appropriately for a Malfoy, or a Slytherin… or for any decent human being."

The Gryffindors stared at him with their mouths hanging open.

"I've teased you without provocation, called you names, and I've tried to make your life miserable," Malfoy continued. "Recently I've realized that I've done wrong, and my ways have changed as of today. I've written to my father and admitted that the whole Hippogriff incident was my fault, and we're calling off the lawsuit against Buckbeak. I'll apologise to Professor Hagrid about the trouble I've caused… and from now on I'll be listening to his instructions."

Pansy Parkinson stepped forward.

"I, too, want to apologise for my behaviour," she said mainly to Hermione.

"We've not given the best of impressions about the House of Slytherin," Malfoy said. "I hope that you'll be able to admit that we, too, belong to this Hogwarts community. We'll be promoting good relationship between all Houses… and we're happy to put all past differences behind us."

It was absolutely hilarious to look at the flabbergasted expressions on the faces of the Gryffindors. Malfoy's acting was a bit cheesy, but luckily there was just one way that the do-gooder Gryffindors could react to an unprompted remorse.

* * *

The mood was a very good in the Slytherin common room that evening.

"That went much better than I had even dared to imagine!" Malfoy rejoiced.

"Very good, I'm impressed with your actor's skills," I said. "I see now why your family is so successful in politics. However, you must be careful not to overact. You mustn't be immediately as if there never was any hostility between you and Potter or otherwise even his Gryffindor brains will get suspicious. Wait patiently for an opportunity to get to know him on a personal level. In the meantime, I'll do my best to convert him to our side."

"How do you do that?"

"Challenges tend to strengthen the Slytherin in each of us. And with Sirius Black on the loose…"

Malfoy howled with laughter.

"That's ingenious!" he commented. "I'm sure your teaching will strike home even in his thick, scarred head!"

* * *

Published on the 31st of October, 2019.


	14. Personal Matters

Chapter 14

PERSONAL MATTERS

Many younger Slytherins followed Malfoy's example and began to behave cordially towards the members of the other Houses. (I wondered if they did so mostly to gain my favour; I had already proven to be a prominent wizard with whom any clever person would want to be in good terms.) Some of them started competing who would make most non-Slytherin friends. Fewer of the older Slytherins bothered to do much; although most of them were pure-blood, not everyone needed to build foundations for future political alliances like Malfoy. But at least they refrained themselves from the previously usual hostile bickering with the other Houses.

Then there were those fools who firmly opposed me. They had been bullying for years and were not willing to stop entertaining themselves with the fear of others. The leader of this group was Marcus Flint who had quickly begun to hate me. As I had planned, I had stolen his role as the unofficial leader of the Slytherin students, but he was not willing to give up. He and a group of others who I had begun to call "the brutes" tried to undermine my efforts of reforming the House of Slytherin. Many of them were members of the Slytherin Quidditch team; I considered it proof that there was a strong correlation between stupidity and Quidditch enthusiasm. Among the brutes were Peregrine Derrick and Lucian Bole, who shared the dormitory with me, and so the dormitory was usually not a pleasant place to be in.

Initially I had been frustrated there were some Slytherins who disregarded the Muggle threat I had thoroughly explained to them, but then I admitted that moving slowly might be for the best. If the entire House had suddenly changed its attitude towards the other Houses, it would have gained attention I did not want. Already there were those who suspected I was up to something.

"Tom, did you have something to do with Malfoy's sudden change of heart?" Harry demanded the moment I stepped into the Room of Requirement for his second fighting lesson.

"What makes you think that?"

"He said he'd been acting inappropriately for a Slytherin. He has changed his mind about the way he thinks Slytherins should act. I considered it, and your involvement seems the only plausible explanation. And didn't you say you're trying to make a difference? Just what've you been doing in Slytherin?"

"I just asked Malfoy what he was doing. Then I told him that being a pathetic idiot at school will certainly damage his future political career. Who's able to take a politician seriously if everyone remembers him as a victim of his own stupidity? No, Malfoy did not suddenly turn into a goodie. It's his own interest he's working for. But perhaps, given time, he will grow and improve as a person."

Obviously, I did not want Harry and Draco to trust each other. I wanted them both to rely on me in matters concerning their future fragile alliance.

"I prefer this new Malfoy to the old one, even if it's just an act," Harry said. "So, thank you. You've made my school life much more tolerable. Is it too much to hope you could do something about Snape as well?"

"I'm afraid it is. He doesn't have a political career to be concerned about, and his actions seem to be motivated by hatred towards your very person. We must keep hoping that his soul gets accidentally devoured by a Dementor."

We proceeded to the dodging drill and the first spells that I had decided to teach him: the Stunning and Shield Charms.

The fighting lessons with Harry were not the only after-school activity that I administered. I re-established the Slytherin Book Club, the Slytherin Debate Society, and the Slytherin Duelling Club, and many of my housemates joined them. In the Debate Society I continued to teach the proper ways of Slytherin to a select few people I considered promising. They included members of the most powerful families like Draco, Theodore Nott, and Daphne Greengrass, as well as some seventh-year students who aspired to have a Ministry career like the seventh-year prefects Ethan Jugson and Carrie Runcorn.

One day I took Draco with me to the grounds, to a clearing that could not be seen from the castle. There I demonstrated him the power of a firearm, and we took turns firing the handgun I had acquired in June. He became much more receptive towards it once I explained that firearms were not exclusively Muggle things like wands were wizard things. They did not possess any mysterious power only Muggles could wield and understand, but were just applications of the same phenomena that wizards used every day; burning gunpowder and directing the combustion gas through the barrel was not that different from burning wood and directing smoke out through a chimney. Wizards could just as well have invented any of the weapons, but there had never been any reason to do so.

"Father seemed somewhat intrigued by what I wrote to him about this," Draco said. "I don't think I managed to describe these weapons to him as well as you. You'll have to meet him sometime and explain this all yourself."

"I can do that," I said. For a moment I tried to imagine Lucius's expression if he ever learned that I had come from the diary he had carelessly given away.

"There's our traditional Yule Ball. Most of the elite of Britain are invited. I'll make sure you'll be invited too."

So, a little more than half a year. That was the time it took me to make a debut in the high circles of wizarding Britain. I would need to find out how many of the former supporters of Voldemort were not irredeemably bad apples of Slytherin. If they had any cunning at all, I could turn it against them by fooling them with my theory I knew to be false. Then they would be turned against Voldemort, and after that all they needed would be a new Dark Lord to pledge their loyalty to.

"Tell me, Draco," I said, "do you know if your parents have received any messages from Sirius Black?"

"No. If he'd asked for help, my father would've arranged him to be arrested. This thing with Black is quite strange, I think. After his escape, I overheard my parents talking about him. Father knows many secrets of the Dark Lord, but he didn't know that Black was a Death Eater before Black was sent to Azkaban. But I guess the Dark Lord didn't share secrets about double agents with followers under the Imperius Curse like my father."

"A shame he didn't get a trial. He might've revealed many interesting secrets."

"Perhaps the Ministry wanted those secrets to remain unknown," Draco mused.

"Or the Wizengamot," I said. Then I remembered the theory I wanted Draco to believe in. "Or its Chief Warlock. Dumbledore allowed him to be sent to Azkaban without a trial even though that damaged his reputation as a leader who believes in the judicial system. Perhaps Black the double agent had learned something shocking about the connection between Dumbledore and Voldemort, and needed to be silenced."

"You're making everything fit into that theory!"

"Oh, I'm not _making_ anything fit. Everything aligns behind the truth by itself."

As we returned to the castle, I wondered if it was possible to Obliviate Black of a vast number of memories, replace them with false memories about Voldemort being Dumbledore, and do it without damaging his mind so that it would convince the Court Legilimens of the Wizengamot. Probably not with my current skills. I would need to practice with someone whom I would not mind turning into a catatonic cripple as a result.

Would anyone miss, say, Marcus Flint?

* * *

One day I decided to spend several hours in the library. Unlike Hermione who somehow tried to attend all her twelve classes, I had a more personal research project than studying. Unfortunately, I was not the only one at Hogwarts with personal ambitions, and one of those others similarly inclined had decided to bother me with her preoccupation.

"Tom? Do you have some time to talk?"

It was Ginny. Ever since returning to Hogwarts I had been able to evade her and her pointless prattling, but I had known it was not to last for very long. When I had still been in the diary, I had become the best and most understanding friend she had ever had, and that was obviously something she was not willing to give up.

"Of course, Ginny," I said and gestured her to take a seat. "Do you enjoy Hogwarts now that the ghost of Voldemort no longer haunts you?"

She began to talk with the fervour I was excruciatingly familiar with, and I pretended to be interested while actually letting my thoughts wander. Admittedly, I had reconsidered my feelings towards her after I had realized her subtle but profound influence on me. I was truly sorry that I had had to use – and almost kill – her and that her first year at Hogwarts had been so horrible. (Luckily she did not remember any of the fear and anxiety I had caused her through the diary.)

"Well, I actually wanted to ask you if you could help me with… with Harry," she said and blushed slightly.

Of course, her childish crush on Harry, or, more precisely, the Boy Who Lived. That had been one of the things she had wasted the most ink with, but back then I had actually welcomed it. All those feelings had nourished me, and it would have been impossible to break free without accepting her hopes and dreams. However, I had not truly given any useful advice.

"Listen, Ginny, you're doing all of this the wrong way," I said. "I don't think you understand at all what kind of person Harry is. You're never going to win his heart if you continue thinking he is the hero from the fairy tales your parents told you. It might work if he was anything like your brother, but he's not. He told me of what he saw in a magic mirror that shows the heart's greatest desire. Can you guess what?"

In fact, Harry had not told me about it, it was too personal, but I had rummaged his memories with Legilimency. I loathed not being told everything.

"He saw himself with his family he never knew, nothing more. No glory, no power, no riches, certainly not fawning fan girls. The very thing that makes you obsessed with him is what he would gladly change about himself. Your brother, on the other hand, saw himself alone, with the greatest honours he could imagine: being the Head Boy and a Quidditch Captain. Harry doesn't want to be in the spotlight, and as long as you treat him as a miracle instead of a person, you're pushing him away."

Ginny looked sad.

"You gave me much good advice last year," she said. "I've missed having a friend I could carry in my pocket. Can you advice me of what to do now?"

To be honest, much of the advice I had given her had actually been damaging to her, but I had managed to make it sound good. ("_Don't care about what others think, be independent, you're above their judging!_") I had wanted to make sure she did not tell anyone about my diary and that she was in an emotionally vulnerable state. As a consequence, she had not made any friends.

However, things had changed. I no longer needed her. Since I wanted her and the other Gryffindors to believe I was some kind of a hero, I could not tell her to leave me alone. I would need to give her some good advice so that at some point she would not need my help anymore. Real friendly advice. Was I even able to give such a thing to anyone?

Then again, perhaps I did not need to. _Anything can be an opportunity_. Ginny was totally ensnared in my influence, so why would I not use her obsession to my advantage? She was just the kind of person I would like to become Harry's girlfriend. That would be the cherry on top of my grip on Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived.

"You must make Harry realize that you're a person with unique characteristics," I said. "I wouldn't be surprised if he considered you merely an awkward side character. First of all, you must learn to speak freely when he's around. Then you must find something to speak with him about. But it can't be his life before Hogwarts, because he doesn't want to talk about it. It can't be Quidditch or food either, they're what your brother talks about all the time. And school business is Hermione's sole right."

I did not need to use Legilimency to know that Ginny thought there were no other things she could possibly talk about.

"Don't hesitate to disagree with him. It shows you're someone to be taken into account. If you don't have any opinions, you should hurry up and form them. Also, don't try to get everything fast. Most teenage relationships only last for a few years at most. If I were you, I would plan something that bears fruit only after you both have graduated."

Some people did not react well to really good and practical advice, and Ginny Weasley was one of them. She thanked me half-heartedly and left, looking discouraged.

_Children_, I sighed. Harry thought he could fight Dark wizards without proper spells, Draco thought he could rely on the power given to him by his family, and Ginny thought that romance was a mystery which could not be analyzed with tools like neuroscience, developmental and evolutionary psychology, and statistics. Teaching them realism and cynicism was the greatest service I could do for them.

I turned back to the parchments I had arranged on the table before I had been interrupted.

In 1943, just before being locked in the diary, I had had three projects going on: the Chamber of Secrets, studying Horcruxes, and finding about my magical heritage. Being a Parselmouth had proven that I was a descendant of Salazar Slytherin, but apart from that, I only knew that my father had the same name I had, and that my mother's father had been named Marvolo.

There had never been any wizards named Riddle, and so I had reluctantly admitted that I was not a pure-blood wizard. When searching the name Marvolo from old books and newspapers I had eventually found information about the Gaunt family. As they were rumoured to be descendants of Slytherin, I had concluded my mother had been one of them. Visiting their homestead in Yorkshire had been my plan for the summer of 1943, and my other self had probably done just that.

Half a century had passed, and so I doubted there was anything to be found anymore. This had been my excuse for not paying a visit during the last days of August when I had suddenly remembered this old summer plan of mine. Perhaps I should have prioritized my personal matters over the Sirius Black affair.

Finding about what Voldemort had done was vitally important. I could not shake the ominous feeling of doom that was caused by the knowledge that I did not have any Horcruxes to bind me to this world.

I needed to do something. I hoped it could be possible to turn one of Voldemort's Horcruxes into mine, it was the same soul either way. But first I would have to find one of them.

* * *

I walked slowly in the Chamber of Secrets, trying to sense traces of concealing magic or any kind of magical resonance that Voldemort's magic might cause with my own. I had searched the Chamber quite thoroughly the previous year, but it was still possible I had missed something. Unfortunately, the sad truth was that Voldemort's magical skills were far superior to mine, even if his level of sanity was inferior. If he wanted something to stay hidden, with my current skills I was unable to discover it.

The Chamber of Secrets was the obvious place he would have hidden one of his Horcruxes. No one else should have been able to find it. But perhaps he had decided that placing a Horcrux in a Basilisk's lair was risky. One could never be sure the Basilisk would not start to chew on an artefact stashed in some corner, protections or not.

But what would have been a better place? I was certain Voldemort had wanted to place a Horcrux in Hogwarts. The castle was one of the most powerful nexuses of magic in the world, the home of our great ancestor, and the first place we had considered home. Still, the truth was that a school inhabited by hundreds of children and several powerful teachers was not a very good place to hide something that should never fall into wrong hands… unless the Horcrux was meant to be found in case of all other precautions failing and a new Voldemort needing to be unleashed.

Later that day, I looked at the towering piles of hidden items in the Room of Requirement. No artefact in there attracted special attention. Among the myriad things could very well be a locket, or a diadem, or a cup, or a sword, or whatever ancient magical relic Voldemort had found and considered worthy of his soul fragment. I tried the Summoning Charm, but since it did not work, it might take months or years to search the entire Room with other means, and I would not like to do it without knowing if there really was a Horcrux hidden in there.

Luckily, I did not need to waste my own time doing it.

"Dobby," I called.

_Crack._

"Master Tom, sir," the elf squeaked, bowing.

"Since you have little housekeeping duties to do while I'm here at Hogwarts, I've something else for you to do," I explained. "Somewhere in this room may be an artefact I want, and it possibly is one of the following. A golden locket with a letter S in it. A diadem of some kind, possibly with a blue jewel in it. A golden cup with a badger engraved on the side. Or a Goblin-made silver sword with rubies in the hilt. If one of those items is in here, it certainly is not near the entrance, but probably still in a place where it is quick to take away in an emergency. If you find one of them, _do not _touch it. Inform me in private, and I will deal with it myself."

"Dobby will find it, Master Tom, sir."

"If you happen to find some other artefacts or books you know I'm interested in, take them. You're free to sleep and eat."

"Master Tom is a very kind and thoughtful…"

"Oh, and don't tell anyone about this task… wait, _you're able to Apparate inside Hogwarts?!_"

"Dobby is able, sir," the elf said. "The wards of this castle only prevent the Apparition spell that humans use. House-elves are free to come and go."

"Interesting! Can you take a human with you in a Side-Along-Apparition?"

"Dobby thinks so, sir. The wards prevent a certain spell, not a certain type of people from moving in an instant."

"Excellent! If I'll be in a hurry, I'll call you."

I left the Room, smiling.

_Note to self_, I thought. _Never underestimate lesser beings. Another note to self: remember to ward important places against the house-elf Apparition spell._

Wizards were usually very stupid and even more arrogant. I had just gained an advantage no one else knew about even though it was within reach of many wizards. This knowledge was something I needed to keep a secret.

* * *

Published on the 10th of November, 2019.


	15. Danger Within

Chapter 15

DANGER WITHIN

Every day when I returned to my dormitory, there were some items on my bed waiting for my evaluation. Dobby found many old heirlooms that were hidden because they were imbued with Dark magic, and several tomes, probably stolen from the Restricted Section of Hogwarts library, or from the family libraries of some students. Every item had its own, unique story, and many times I found myself wondering, why they had not been retrieved from the Room of Requirement.

Days passed, then weeks, but no matter how many interesting items Dobby found, there was never a Horcrux among them. But I was patient. Even if Voldemort had not hidden anything in the Room, Dobby's work of finding other artefacts was useful for me and deserved to continue.

* * *

My other projects were progressing nicely. Harry had learned the Stunning and Shield Charms, and I had proceeded to teach him the actual art of fighting. The Room of Requirement produced a massive, multileveled, and ever-changing maze for us, and there we tried to ambush each other. Often Dobby joined us and happily agreed to distract us in order for the maze to better simulate real-life situations. After only a few lessons Ron and Hermione joined us as well. Ron, who still admired me for supposedly banishing Voldemort in the Chamber of Secrets, overcame his laziness, and Hermione, who always wanted to learn new things, somehow found even more time for my lessons, although she seemed badly worn out. (I suggested that she would give up Divination and Muggle Studies, and she did not dismiss the thought altogether.) Not long afterwards also Ginny asked to join. I was positively surprised to find that she heeded my advice and used this opportunity to get to know Harry as a person.

Draco had become my staunch supporter, very much like many of the younger Slytherins during my first time at Hogwarts. I had taught him many methods of manipulation and strategic thinking, and I was positive he would grow to be worthy of being my puppet. Slytherins in general had taken a turn to the better.

The idiotic brutes of Slytherin were, of course, doing their best to oppose me. What was a surprise to me was the new attitude of Professor Snape. After I had taught the majority of Slytherins to not follow his example, he had turned sour towards me. He bullied Gryffindors during Potions classes, but since most Slytherin students had justifiably become embarrassed about it and were apologetic towards the Gryffindors, Snape had realized his authority had diminished. Like Flint, he was losing his prestige in his own House, and he soon learned that I was the one to blame.

Gone was the collegial appreciation he had showed me during the first few NEWT level Potions classes; he had become very much like the person Harry and Ginny had complained about. The other three students were confused, but to me the situation was sad rather than threatening, much to Snape's ire. He was one of the most childish adults I had ever encountered, and that was why it was easy for me to feel being in control. But that did not mean I would not punish him for every single transgression once it was within my power.

* * *

Those Hogwarts students who were of age had the right to leave the school grounds whenever they pleased. (I was, officially, of age. I had claimed I had turned seventeen in June so that I had been given my Apparition licence then instead of the 31st of December.) This right was not advertised, because the staff preferred all students staying within the school's protective charms, and I doubted if most of them even knew about it. I had found the information in a dreadfully disorganized list of rules, and decided to use the right. (Well, in all honesty, I was not someone who gave a damn about rules. I had created a Horcrux, for Merlin's sake!) I just needed to summon Dobby and order him to Side-Along-Apparate me to Diagon Alley. That way I was able to continue attending fighting lessons in the Kwikspell Company and spend some enlightening Legilimency sessions in the Muggle world, not to mention all the lottery drawings I could continue manipulating for my benefit.

Since I did not need to care about Hogsmeade weekends, I had totally forgotten about the first one at the end of October. When I returned to Hogwarts to prepare for the Hallowe'en Feast, I was surprised by the lack of students in the castle. After realizing that most of those who were present were in their first and second years, it did not take me long to conclude where the older ones were.

I left the Slytherin common room to avoid being asked by the children to help them with their homework, and just wandered around the hallways. That was a pastime I had not had enough time for lately. I was, after all, very fond of Hogwarts, and during my first autumn there I had expressed that fondness by exploring all nooks and crannies, all secret passages, and all hidden rooms.

That was how I met Harry who was loitering in the hallways very much like me.

"Hi, Tom, why aren't you in Hogsmeade?" he asked.

"I actually visited Diagon Alley, but returned already. Why aren't you there?"

Harry looked annoyed.

"Professor McGonagall talked to me after the last Transfiguration class. She said that since Sirius Black is out there and believed to be after me, I shouldn't leave Hogwarts' grounds. Apparently she thinks Black is waiting in Hogsmeade for me to come for a visit."

"Wasn't Black sighted in Scotland in September, though?"

"Yeah, Seamus mentioned about it."

Once again I began to wonder Dumbledore's security measures.

"So, a mass murderer is believed to attack a Hogwarts student who is visiting Hogsmeade. That one student is not allowed to visit the village, but all the others are. But Black doesn't know that. What if Black resorts to his favoured method and starts blasting the throng of students in hopes of you being there? Is it right to risk them all? And why isn't there an army of Aurors patrolling Hogsmeade and keeping everyone safe?"

"I cannot answer those questions," Harry said. "Now that you pointed that out, there doesn't seem to be any sense in this."

"I agree, but at least Dumbledore's sense of safety is consistent. He did agree to hide the Philosopher's Stone, a relic sought by the most horrible Dark Lord in history, in a school full of children. And someone else would've closed the school the moment the opening of the Chamber of Secrets was announced a year ago. Muggles take these kinds of things more seriously. But Dumbledore's a war hero first, and the Headmaster second. He's used to sacrificing unimportant pawns for the Greater Good, although, in these cases, I can't imagine what that Greater Good might've been."

"The more I talk with you, the less I trust Dumbledore," Harry said, looking out of a window to the lake.

I suppressed a diabolical chuckle, and the dry voice of an Evil Overlord declared in my mind,

_Everything is proceeding as I have foreseen!_

I quickly took up a totally different role.

"I pity the man," said the noble hero Tom Valedro, the one who had banished Voldemort but given the credit to Gilderoy Lockhart. "Albus Dumbledore has seen too much war, too many of his students turning to evil. Such horrors do not leave anyone unchanged. Still, even though he has learned to think like a general, he has a strong sense of duty to do what he can for young witches and wizards. It is admirable, it truly is. Dumbledore is a good man if there ever was one. But… in this wicked world we live in… being good is not always for the Greater Good. Sometimes one has to be a Slytherin."

"At first, when I was new to the wizarding world, I thought Slytherins were simply evil," Harry confessed. "The Chamber of Secrets incident did not help to change that. But from you I've learned that there is more to being a Slytherin."

"Every House has its Dark side," I said. "Just like everything. We Slytherins can be cruel and ruthless. You Gryffindors can be self-righteous. Ravenclaws can be cold and uncaring. Hufflepuffs can be narrow-minded in their conformity. It was a vision shared by Salazar, Godric, Rowena, and Helga that we could refine our strengths and learn virtues from others. Unfortunately, the House Point system that was meant to reward academic achievements turned the Houses against one another."

There was a long silence. Slowly, a stream of returning students formed on the road from the gate to the castle.

"Perhaps I shouldn't be angry at Professor McGonagall," Harry murmured. "I'm not sure I would've gone even if she'd allowed me to. There are the Dementors guarding the gate. They probably would've affected me badly again."

But there were secret passageways from the castle to the village. I had found six in total, and at least fifty years previously some of them had not been known to anyone else. I probably should tell Harry about them.

"I had tea with Professor Lupin," Harry continued. "During the Boggart lesson he did not allow me to face it. I asked him why, and he said he didn't want the Boggart to turn into Voldemort. But then I said that the Boggart would've probably taken the form of a Dementor. What was your Boggart's form, by the way?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Oh? Just tell me."

"Professor Lockhart and his Cornish Pixies," I said, smiling at the memory. "So effective that everyone fled."

"But you're not truly afraid of Cornish Pixies? You just knew it would work?"

"Exactly. Professor Lupin hopes this knowledge does not spread. He doesn't want Boggarts to become better at protecting their territory. Besides, that may be something to be weaponized."

We looked out of the window again.

"Ron and Hermione are returning," Harry said after a while when he spotted the two familiar figures. "The Feast probably begins soon. They'll want to tell me everything about Honeydukes, the Three Broomsticks, and the Shrieking Shack."

"The what?" I said, emerging from my thoughts.

"The Shrieking Shack, a haunted house in Hogsmeade."

"I'm not familiar with it. There certainly was no Shrieking Shack in Hogsmeade in the early forties. Strange. I wonder whose ghost haunts it."

"I think Hermione said it's one of the most haunted places in the entire Britain."

"Impossible. Where could so many ghosts come from in just fifty years?"

"I dunno. Let's ask Hermione."

So, not everything in the wizarding world stayed the same. I had already learned of another example, one of Dumbledore's most insane ideas, the Whomping Willow. As if Hogwarts had not had enough dangers before the planting of a tree that tried to whack off the head of anyone who came too close.

* * *

Hallowe'en was one of the holidays I had not understood why magical people celebrated them. Since wizards had some actual knowledge of the mystery of death, there was little room for any kind of religious explanations. Hallowe'en, like Christmas and Easter, were mainly traditions sustained by the constant inflow of Muggle-borns to whom they were important childhood experiences. (It was strange that the Slytherin blood purists did not advocate the abolishment of such ignoble traditions.) Of course, celebrations had the social purpose of breaking the dullness of mundane life.

But ever since 1981 Hallowe'en had had its very special significance to British wizards. When we Hogwarts students began our Feast in the Great Hall, we were celebrating the twelfth anniversary of Voldemort's defeat and commemorating the martyrs of the day, James and Lily Potter. Not everyone in the Slytherin table considered the day worth celebrating. Marcus Flint and the other brutes had gathered at the far end of the table, looking sour and glaring at those of their housemates who had the nerve to be happy. On a related note, at the High Table, an unusually morose Snape was clearly mourning someone most dear to him who had died twelve years previously. Dumbledore had to be totally senile not to see him for the devoted Death Eater that he was!

Hallowe'en also meant certain special excitement to Hogwarts students. It was two years since Voldemort had unleashed a troll into the dungeons and Dumbledore had decided that all students needed to return to their common rooms, including the Slytherins to their own _in the dungeons!_ (Perhaps Dumbledore had hoped that some of the evil Slytherin kids would have been killed.) And it was a year ago when I had gained enough strength to possess Ginny and open the Chamber of Secrets. I wondered what Hallowe'en had in store for us this time.

Jack-o'-lanterns gave little light to the Great Hall, hundreds of bats were flying in chaotic patterns, Sir Nicholas was performing an exaggerated demonstration of his imperfect decapitation, and a seventh-year Ravenclaw was telling The Tale of the Three Brothers to a group of first-years. It was very atmospheric, and I found myself enjoying the Feast when I talked with my closest Slytherin acquaintances. Pointless celebrations had just annoyed me during my first life, but Ginny's influence on me had changed that for the better.

What a year it had been!

After the Feast ended I returned to the common room and to my dormitory. After bringing me back to Hogwarts, Dobby had found an old notebook in the Room of Requirement and left it on my bed. I had just determined it had belonged to some very skilled and devious Spell-Crafter when the amplified voice of Snape echoed from the very walls.

"_All Slytherins, come to the common room at once._"

I put the notebook into my trunk and left the dormitory.

"Prefects, make sure every Slytherin student is present," Snape said as he stood in front of the entrance, his wand in his hand. "I am escorting you back to the Great Hall. Save your questions for later."

Ten minutes later we were back in the Great Hall, but whatever it was all about, it did not concern just us Slytherins. All students were herded there, and the Gryffindors explained to the rest of us what had happened: Sirius Black had somehow entered Hogwarts and tried to break into the Gryffindor common room. However, the madman who had blasted thirteen people with one curse had failed to force the portrait door open. Perhaps he was not that powerful after all.

"I guess he wasn't aware of Hallowe'en being today," Harry said as we lay down to sleep in the sleeping bags Dumbledore had conjured for each student.

"Or then he wanted to ambush you in your dormitory," I mused, ignoring the oldest Weasley brother who was enjoying his authority of the Head Boy.

There was much fear and excitement in the air, and I was not the only one who did not even try to sleep. I had cast the Supersensory Charm on myself, but even with its help I could not hear anything ominous from outside the Hall.

Sometime in the middle of the night Dumbledore and Snape returned to the Hall and had an interesting conversation.

"The whole of the third floor has been searched. He's not there. And Filch has done the dungeons; nothing there, either."

"What about the Astronomy Tower? Professor Trelawney's room? The Owlery?"

"All searched…"

"Very well, Severus. I did not really expect Black to linger."

"Have you any theory as to how he got in, Professor?"

"Many, Severus, each of them as unlikely as the next."

I raised my head to better observe them. Snape saw my movement and looked at me with his eyes narrowed maliciously.

"I think Black had help," Snape said bluntly.

_Oh_, I thought, _is this your desperate attempt to have me expelled, you worm?_

"Help?" Dumbledore questioned. "Who would help him attacking this school?"

"Oh, who could it possibly be?" Snape drawled with a voice so heavy with irony that I was afraid it would corrode my ears. "Do you think it is a mere coincidence that Black managed to enter Hogwarts just two months after you appointed his good –"

"I do not believe a single person inside this castle would have helped Black enter it," Dumbledore interrupted.

Interesting, Snape was suspecting Professor Lupin of being in league with Black. Was Snape just being paranoid, or was there something else going on? _Black's good_… what? Friend, perhaps? Lupin certainly looked like he was the same age as Black.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore returned to the Headmaster's office, his mind full of questions about the massive breach in security. The wards of Hogwarts were a piece of art in their sophistication, but unfortunately much of what they were capable of had been lost to time. The portrait of one of the oldest Headmasters had told that there used to be a means of tracking every single being in the castle and on the grounds, but the method of utilizing that magic had been forgotten.

How had Sirius Black managed to infiltrate the castle? Was Severus right in assuming that Black's childhood friend, Remus Lupin, had helped him in? Dumbledore remembered the seven stressful years when Black, Lupin, and their two friends James Potter and Peter Pettigrew had marauded Hogwarts. In the end, it had turned out that Black's involvement had been just an act to gain the trust of Voldemort's enemies.

But if Lupin was in league with Black in the attempt to kill or abduct Harry Potter, there was no reason for Black to attack the boy. Lupin had had dozens of opportunities to do Harry harm, but he never had. The man had to be innocent. Besides, what possible reason could he have to be a supporter of Voldemort? Lupin was a werewolf, but he knew better than anyone that Voldemort had not truly wanted to improve their situation, just to use them for his purposes.

Dumbledore popped a sherbet lemon into his mouth and looked at the chess board he kept on a side table. White pieces dominated it, the black king was standing alone in a corner, and two black bishops were ruling over a few pawns, symbolizing Lucius Malfoy and Sirius Black.

Dumbledore moved one of the black bishops to stand in the middle of the white pieces.

* * *

Published on the 20th of November, 2019.


	16. Dominance Contest

Chapter 16

DOMINANCE CONTEST

Quidditch was one of the worst things ever devised by a human being. I was yet to determine if it was as bad as the noise pollution that countless millions of Muggles had fallen for during my fifty years of absence and included in the noble art of music. Or the new styles of Muggle buildings that aesthetically retarded architects had designed.

To put it simply, watching the first game I had condescended to attend was turning me homicidal. The Ginny part of me was glad that I had not stolen the launch codes of the world's nuclear weapons. Setting the world on fire was becoming more and more tempting. Admittedly, that might have been caused not only by Quidditch, but also by the facts that it was _pouring rain_ and that a storm nearing a hurricane was about to _wrench the entire Quidditch pitch to the skies!_

Seriously, would it be that difficult to create some kind of magical dome around the Quidditch pitch, something that kept the rain, wind, mist, cold, and other weather conditions away, and illuminate the pitch in a steady light? I guessed the exposure to weather was a part of the game.

In the idiotic world of sports Quidditch was the most idiotic thing. I had never truly understood sports, but I imagined the idea was to get over one's physical limitations. Sports events were games where exceptionally strong or skilled individuals competed for the entertainment of spectators, giving them the sense that the players represented their nation or House, creating a delusion of common fate. But as I watched at the maelstrom of rain and fleeting glimpses of players, what I was actually watching was a competition of broomsticks. Each Slytherin player was riding a Nimbus Two Thousand and One, a professional racing broom second only to my Firebolt, donated to them by Lucius Malfoy in exchange for Draco becoming the Seeker, while the Gryffindors rode Cleansweeps with the exception of Harry and his Nimbus Two Thousand.

The rules of Quidditch were probably meant to be a joke, or alternatively a test of how long it would take before the stagnant wizardkind changed them for the better. I was listing in my mind suggestions for improving the game. _Get rid of the Snitch. Get rid of the Bludgers. Get rid of broomsticks and make the players do something physical._ Then I realized the game was becoming basketball, and I shuddered in disgust. I had once sworn to myself that the day I considered basketball sensible was the day I no longer deserved to be called sensible myself.

Quidditch games lasted until the Snitch was caught. Since visibility that evening was nearing zero, the game was probably going to last until the next day.

So, the question was: why did I stay there brooding my murderous thoughts? Because of politics. I was the unofficial leader of the Slytherin students, and Slytherins were just as excited by the sorry excuse for a sport as all other wizards. I had to be there and cheer the Slytherin team, or the leadership might shift back to Marcus Flint who was flying somewhere in the rain, braving the weather in the name of Slytherin. The least I could do was to watch him do it.

Flint, Montague, Warrington, Derrick, Bole, Bletchley – the six worst brutes who would have gladly fed me to the Giant Squid. They were the ones who I had to cheer. I hoped that they would fail miserably and that Draco, the most pointless player of the team, would save the day by catching the Snitch.

Suddenly something happened in the game. One of the Gryffindor Chasers had thrown the Quaffle through a Slytherin goalpost. As I tried to make sense of it, my concentration on my Shield Charm wavered, the Shield winked out, and I was once again soaked wet.

As an overwhelming frustration filled my mind, I prayed for both God and the Devil for an intervention.

And it seemed the Devil answered, because Hell was unleashed.

Horrible chill resembling the arctic winter swept over the Quidditch pitch. Cries of excitement turned into screams of horror. A deadly vertigo overcame my mind, but I scrambled up from my seat. That was it. I was done with pretending to be interested in the collective idiocy of average wizards. If Slytherins returned to support Flint because of it, I could rectify the situation by ripping his limbs off in the middle of the Slytherin common room and feeding his own intestines to him…

_Wait wait wait!_ A voice for reason within my mind realized something was wrong. _Why am I this murderous all of a sudden?_

I looked around and saw the reason of my mind turning so fierce. Dementors were swarming on the other side of the pitch, their horrible, rasping voices audible even through the storm.

I was just about to summon Dobby to Apparate me to safety, but then I shut my mouth. I was not in immediate danger as there were hundreds of students between me and the Dementors, and someone would surely cast the Patronus Charm any minute. The secret of the house-elves' ability to Side-Along-Apparate wizards through the Anti-Apparition Ward was so important to protect that I chose to endure Dementor exposure for a little bit longer.

Then I spotted a stray broomstick in the air, being blown away by the wind. Had one of the players fallen off? It was not my problem, and they probably wanted to have their broom back.

"_Accio!_" I shouted, and the broom zoomed to me. I mounted it, kicked some speed, and headed back towards the castle.

When I dismounted the broom in the Entrance Hall, I realized it was a Nimbus Two Thousand. _Damn it!_ Had my most valuable pawn, Harry Potter, fallen to his death?

* * *

I ate four bars of chocolate and took a very long and hot shower. Only then did the feeling of frozen bone marrows leave me, and I returned to the Slytherin common room. To my surprise, everyone was already back, and judging by the cheerful mood, our team had won the game. However, there was also some kind of confusion in the air, and it was Draco who appeared to be in the centre of it.

"Did something happen?" I asked.

"You'd better ask Malfoy about it," Flint growled, emphasizing the use of surname.

I turned to look at Draco, but it was Pansy Parkinson who answered, looking awestruck.

"Draco saved Potter's life."

"What? How?"

"It was after the Dementors came," Draco said. "We had both spotted the Snitch, and were racing side by side after it. Then the cold and despair struck us. Potter's focus faltered, and I grabbed the Snitch. As I slowed down, I saw him losing control of his broom, and then he fell. I think it was the Dementors. I was affected by them, too. I remembered what you taught me… and I saw a vision of what would happen if I failed. The House of Malfoy disgraced, all of our power and wealth lost… even our manor sold to the Weasleys! Then I realized what I had to do… I sped down and grabbed Potter's arm. I couldn't stop his fall, but at least I slowed him down so that he wasn't badly hurt. He was taken to the hospital wing, though."

"Draco was awarded with fifty points to Slytherin for good sportsmanship," Pansy added. "By McGonagall!"

I felt pride and triumph swelling in my chest.

"Draco," I declared, "you're going to be the greatest Malfoy that has ever lived. Salazar himself couldn't have done a more Slytherin thing than what you did today. For that I salute you."

And I did. Draco blushed with delight. That was a cue for the rest of the Slytherins on how to react to the situation, and the confusion lifted. Many of them cheered and some closest to Draco patted his shoulders encouragingly.

"Thank you for showing me the true way of Slytherin," Draco answered cordially. I was quite sure his eyes flashed defiantly towards Flint. The Quidditch Captain looked very frustrated. Clearly he had hoped that victory would have made him the hero once again, but Draco's unexpected heroism had stolen the spotlight from him and proven that my way was the better one.

"I happened to catch Potter's broom," I said. "I'll go and return it to him, and I'll make sure he feels appropriate gratitude to you. This is truly excellent work, Draco."

I left the common room carrying the Nimbus Two Thousand, and wondered why so many people thought that a Dark Lord's scheming was always a bad thing. Already many people had benefited from my manipulations.

In the hospital wing I found a disheartened group of Gryffindors. Harry lay on a bed and was surrounded by Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and the members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team except Oliver Wood. Harry did not look physically hurt, but still, he looked very unwell.

"My condolences," I said to the players without really meaning it. "Harry, I found and retrieved your broom."

"Thank you," Harry mumbled.

None of the Gryffindors showed any hostility towards me. Even the Gryffindor Chasers whose names I could not remember knew that I was the "Good Slytherin" and a friend of the other Houses.

"Did you see what Malfoy did?" Ron asked.

"No, but I heard about it. It seems he really meant it when he said he was going to change his ways. Most of us Slytherins think he did admirably. Not Flint, though."

"You've brought a remarkable change for the better to Hogwarts," Hermione said, beaming.

Strange words from someone who had lost most of the spring to petrification because of me, but I accepted the praise.

The defeat and the Dementors were not the only things that bothered Harry. After the rest of the Quidditch team had departed, Harry said to Ron,

"After the first Divination class you asked me if I'd seen a Grim. Well, today I did. It was right there, at the Quidditch pitch. I saw it just before the Dementors came."

Both Ron and Ginny looked terrified.

"Are you sure you didn't just imagine it?" Hermione asked dismissively.

"I'm quite sure," Harry said.

"Hermione!" Ron said. "This is serious!"

"What? You think he's an Animagus and watches Quidditch games?"

Ron was opening and closing his mouth, unable to find words.

"Dementors can make people see hallucinations," I said neutrally. "And the Hound of Death is not the worst omen. The Dementor on the Express made me see Death himself."

The children looked at me warily.

"I don't let it trouble me," I said, shrugging. "It's nothing more than intimidation."

* * *

Nothing more than intimidation. The evening of the next day offered me another example of it.

I was returning to the Slytherin common room when the sturdy forms of Flint, Derrick, Bole, Montague, Warrington, and Bletchley blocked the narrow dungeon hallway. The confrontation I had been expecting for weeks had finally come.

"Do you mind stepping out of my way?" I asked as if I did not understand what they wanted.

"Actually, I do mind," Flint snarled. "We've got some business to settle with you."

"I see. Tell me, has Snape set you to this? Is the greasy bat too afraid to confront me himself?"

"Professor Snape is a true Slytherin," Flint grunted. "He didn't set us to this, but we know he'd approve. Like us, he knows how you're corrupting our House. You've already turned Draco into some kind of Gryffindor, but that nonsense ends today."

"Since when has any Gryffindor been able to secure his future political situation decades in advance?" I snorted.

"Draco saved Potter's life!" Flint roared. "Harry Potter's! He's one of the best Gryffindor players in ages! We'd've been much better off with him dead! This is your fault!"

"Do I look like someone who's interested in Quidditch? It's idiotic waste of time. No wonder you're all so fanatic about it."

Flint took out his wand and the other brutes followed his lead. I was not the slightest bit concerned. I was, as always, wearing my bullet-proof vest, and I was protected by the hundreds of automatically activating Shield Charms I had reinforced it with. (I had a habit of casting a few new ones every day.) Unless they used such Dark magic I did not think they were capable of, I was totally invulnerable.

"Potter's also the enemy of the Dark Lord," Flint said. "When he returns, you're gonna be in trouble. Now you've made Draco a target, too."

"Placing your faith in a bloke who failed to kill a one year old child? You Junior Death Eaters are the most pathetic thing I've ever heard of."

Flint cast a nasty but not very dangerous curse, and I dodged it without effort. Although I knew that the brutes were mere nuisances to someone like me, I could not help but feel a fiery anger rising. Such gnats did not deserve to be even noticed by me, but they forced me to bother to subdue them. It was an insult!

A few more curses were targeted at me, and I saw the brutes being surprised by the agility with which I dodged their futile attacks. It was time to demonstrate the skills I had learned from my martial arts instructors.

A swift karate punch sent Flint sprawling on the floor. The other brutes realized that we were fighting for real, and they began to use slightly more dangerous curses. However, none of them was very skilled or powerful in magic. They surely knew how to aim a Quaffle or a Bludger, but when tossing spells they were no match for me, and I still did not draw out my wand.

I kicked Derrick in the abdomen and tripped Warrington without trouble. Flint was about to get onto his feet again, and I made a quick vital-point strike that made him yell. Bole, Montague, and Bletchley were starting to panic. As they hesitated to fire curses while their friends were behind me, I lunged at them like a whirlwind and toppled them with a few more punches.

All of them were sprawling on the floor, and I picked up their wands.

"I didn't use a single bit of magic," I said. "A Muggle could have defeated you with minimal effort. If I would've had an assault rifle, I could've made minced meat out of you in seconds. And you call yourselves wizards? You're unworthy of being in Slytherin!"

They looked at me in humiliation, but their fear eclipsed their anger. Unlike me, they had never practiced wandless magic and were totally powerless.

"No one assaults me without punishment!" I shouted, my anger burning unnecessarily hot. "You think I'm not a real Slytherin? I'll show you the truth!"

With a few lashes of my wand I tied them up, made them unable to cause noise, and forced them to move as I directed them.

We left the dungeons and climbed to the second floor and entered the girls' bathroom.

"_Open!_" I hissed at a tap, causing it to move into the floor, revealing a filthy pipe. I flicked my wand, and one by one the brutes slid down, their mouths agape in a silent, horrified cry. I followed them, hissing as I went down, "_Close!_"

Some Slytherins would have been honoured beyond words for being invited to the legendary Chamber of Secrets, but the brutes seemed to be too oblivious to realize it. They trembled like scared little children and were repulsed when I conjured balls of light and they saw the tunnel we were in.

"That way," I commanded and pointed towards the main Chamber. As it took them more than a second to obey, I prodded Flint with a Stinging Hex.

We went through the pile of rocks that Lockhart had caused to cave-in, I opened the door to the main Chamber, and then the six boys who had meddled with a power beyond their reckoning saw the majesty of my ancestor's statue. I smirked, because the best part was still coming.

"_Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts four!_" The statue's mouth opened, and I hissed, "_Come, but keep your eyes closed._"

The Basilisk came forth, its magnificent skin gleaming like emeralds, and it licked the air curiously. Then it nudged me affectionately, and I patted its head in response.

"_Open your mouth and hiss_."

The Basilisk did so, and the brutes almost fainted in terror. I dispelled the Silencing Charms.

"I must say that I'm ashamed by the fact that you are the obstacles I had to overcome," I said. "You're nothing to me. I have just one real enemy worthy of my trouble in this school, and his name is Albus Dumbledore."

"Was – was it you who opened the Chamber of Secrets last year?" Derrick spluttered. "But… you were supposed to be in New Zealand!"

"No, it was not me," I lied. "It was my wayward relative, Voldemort." I paused momentarily. "Also known as Albus Dumbledore. Don't ask me what he tried to accomplish. But the line of Slytherin survived in New Zealand, and now I'm here to set things right. You made a terrible mistake by opposing me, but I am merciful enough offer you a second chance. Swear to me an Unbreakable Vow to serve me for the rest of your lives… or become the dinner of my pet."

The Basilisk was studying the brutes, clearly enthusiastic about the prospect of eating them. They wailed in distress, but the choice was an easy one to make.

Unbreakable Vows were not frivolous things. Binding a Vow that lasted for a lifetime required a significant and permanent sacrifice of magical power, and few were willing to part with such an amount of power. (That was one of the reasons why few Dark Lords had demanded their followers to swear unending loyalty to them.) I forced the brutes to bind the Vows of one another. They would grow to be remarkably weak in their magical power, but I did not care. They had deserved it.

"I swear to serve Tom Valedro, the Heir of Slytherin, for the rest of my life. I swear to keep his secrets, and to risk my life for his. I swear to be like a house-elf to him." Those were the words I made them say when the magic bound their fates.

"On your knees," I ordered and they obeyed. "You've been a disgrace to the House of my great ancestor, but I understand that you've been but pawns in a greater game. Snape has given you a very bad example. I think it is time to tell him that my House no longer respects him. You shall be the messengers."

As a plan formed in my mind, I smirked in a way that made my six servants squirm in sinister anticipation.

* * *

It was dinnertime in the Great Hall. Nothing was unusual, until Marcus Flint tapped his spoon against his goblet. The ringing voice quieted the Hall, and Flint stood up.

"I am happy to announce," he said, looking anything but happy, "that the Slytherin Quidditch team wants to make a small performance to celebrate our recent victory."

Flint and all the other players except Draco went to stand in front of the door to the Entrance Hall. Draco, who sat next to me, was about to rise too, but I stopped him.

"This is a song for our beloved Head of House, Professor Severus Snape," Flint said, nodding at the High Table where the staff was looking at them in confusion.

My servants began a chaotically choreographed dance performance and an equally horrible song. Their faces were burning with embarrassment, but to disobey would have resulted in death.

"_Snape is our undisputed king,  
but he's a sorry fellow.  
Master of Potions,  
but with nasty temper._"

I was not much of a poet, but even if I were, I would not have bothered to rhyme anything sophisticated for the brutes. I had actually reasoned that an obnoxiously disoriented piece of rubbish was fitting for the occasion. Besides, everyone expected better of me, and I did not want to be suspected of having anything to do with the performance.

"_How did he become our king?  
I can't imagine, because this I know:  
Snape is unworthy of Slytherin.  
Virtues of Salazar are just a joke to him._"

Snape's face had turned so red that the colour resembled that of Vernon Dursley's face on the day Harry had bought Grunnings. He barked something and drew out his wand. Most members of the staff were staring in absolute disbelief. Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling and it looked as if he was struggling not to smile.

"_Spawn of a Muggle,  
ambition of a cockroach.  
This man's a disgrace.  
Hasn't he heard of shampoo?_"

I had not written any more verses, and it turned out I had estimated the limits of Snape's patience accurately. Curses began to fly through the Hall, and my poor servants were thrown against the wall. Snape was seething with rage, more furious than I had ever seen him, and he roared something about detention for a month, but that did not stop the Gryffindors from bursting into laughter. Several Hufflepuffs followed them, as did fewer Ravenclaws and even some Slytherins.

Sometimes I wondered if I should abandon my plans of becoming a Dark Lord and become a Dark Trickster instead.

* * *

Published on the 30th of November, 2019.


	17. Magical Applications

Chapter 17

MAGICAL APPLICATIONS

The Slytherin students were cunning enough to realize that the humiliation of Flint and the other brutes was most advantageous to me, and I had to deny many times my assumed involvement in the new Hogwarts legend, the Performance. Those Slytherins who had admired Flint as a tough bloke and underestimated me because of my civilized image were shocked. After the Performance, I was not just respected; I was also feared. They knew that my enemies would face the same fate as Flint and the others: they had become resigned and subdued, silently stalking the hallways, with nothing left of their earlier bravado.

However, Flint took the responsibility himself. I was not sure he convinced anyone, but since Snape had a confession, he could not continue the investigation further. Unfortunately, that did not mean the staff did not have some new interest towards me.

The next morning I received a message from Dumbledore himself, making my blood freeze in my veins as if there was a Dementor inside the piece of parchment. He asked me to visit him in his office after dinner, and the foreboding anticipation tormented me the whole day. Finally, after checking my disguising charms and drinking a Sore Throat Potion to change my voice, I stood in front of the heavy oaken door I had last opened the day I had framed Hagrid for opening the Chamber of Secrets. I took a deep breath before knocking.

"Enter," the hated voice summoned, and I stepped into the lion's den, looking around like someone who was there for the first time. I could not help but frown at the strange noises created by various magical contraptions. They were probably purposefully designed to unnerve visitors.

Albus Dumbledore sat on the throne that had once belonged to Armando Dippet. His eyes twinkled even more madly than I remembered, and once again I got the horrible feeling he could see right through my Occlumency barrier. There was a diabolical smirk on his face… or was it just a benevolent grandfatherly smile? It was difficult to interpret his expression objectively.

"Ah, Mr Valedro, it is good to meet you," the devil said and put down his wand he had used in creating something that looked like a Runic array. I noted in passing that he had replaced the wand he had used fifty years earlier. "Would you like to have a sherbet lemon?"

He gestured towards a bowl on his desk with yellow sweets in it.

"No thank you, sir," I said, flinching. I did not want to take the risk of being dosed with Veritaserum.

"You have only been at Hogwarts for a short time, but already you have had a remarkable influence on the school," Dumbledore announced and popped one of the lemon sweets into his mouth.

"Oh, is that so, sir? I hadn't noticed." My actor's skills seemed to deteriorate when I had no idea what was going on.

"Oh yes! There has been a significant increase in student satisfaction. It appears there was an animosity between Slytherin and the other Houses. Alas, as we know, young people rarely know how to handle such situations. Despite the best efforts of the staff, we were unable to end bullying at Hogwarts. However, knowledge has reached my ears that you have managed to teach more constructive ways of interaction to your housemates. Mr Malfoy rushing to save Mr Potter, his earlier nemesis, is a perfect example of it."

I strained my acting skills to not appear nervous. Did Dumbledore know I had taught the Slytherins to subtly manipulate the other Houses? Had he heard of my theory that Voldemort had been just his disguise? I silently cursed my decision to redirect blame from my once other self to my nemesis.

"That is something that deserves acknowledgement," Dumbledore continued as I failed to come up with anything appropriate to say. "It so happened that Professor Snape took the prefect's responsibilities away from Peregrine Derrick after the rather… eccentric performance. Thus the school is lacking a sixth-year Slytherin prefect. You have in your short Hogwarts career proven to be a hundred times more suitable for the position than Derrick ever was. Are you up to the task?"

"Of course, sir," I said, finally easing. This meeting appeared to be, after all, just normal school business.

Dumbledore waved his unfamiliar wand, and a prefect's badge appeared in my robe. Also, a pamphlet flew from one of the numerous drawers in the office straight into my hand.

"There is a list of your duties and privileges. Congratulations, Mr Valedro. I hope your favourable influence on the other students continues. Experiences in one's early years greatly affect how one ends up taking a stand towards life in general. A good-natured school environment is of much Greater Good than people usually give credit for."

Someone might have missed the hint, but I did not. I mumbled something suitable for a new prefect without processing the words consciously and fled the office and the gaze of those eerily twinkling eyes.

One thing about Dumbledore had not changed. His hints were impossibly difficult to decipher definitely. I could not even be sure he had hinted anything. Maybe he just liked to drop slogans of Dark Lords in order to see how people reacted to them.

* * *

When I returned to the Slytherin common room, many of my housemates noticed that I had become a prefect; it seemed many had even expected it to happen. Ethan Jugson nodded in approval, whereas Peregrine Derrick who was leaving for his detention glared at me sourly.

I entered my dormitory, and the moment I closed the door behind me there was a deafening bang of displaced air.

_Crack._

"Master Tom, sir. Dobby thinks he has found –"

"Take me to it," I said immediately, adrenaline shifting me to my action mode, and I grabbed the elf's arm. Dobby nodded, and a brief moment of Apparition later we were standing in the Room of Requirement, amidst the unorganized piles of hidden things.

An old, dusty diadem was the topmost item of one of the smaller piles. It looked remarkably modest, very unlike the relics associated with the Founders of Hogwarts. I looked at it closely and almost touched it with my hand. Then I felt it, the slight but unmistakable feeling of resonance.

Instead of touching it, I began to cast various diagnostic spells on and around it. It was an item of tremendous Dark magic, and it contained a magical imprint almost identical to my own. However, the seeming lack of protections worried me. I could only detect the basic Anti-Summoning Charm. Had Voldemort left it without any other charms? Or had they worn off for some reason? Or were they so subtle and insidious that no diagnostic charm could detect them?

"_Accio _broom," I summoned. A moment later an old broomstick appeared next to me. I mounted it, rose above the piles of things and flew some distance towards the entrance until I could only barely see Dobby. Then I cast a series of Shield Charms between the two of us.

"Pick it up," I called him, ready to fly further away.

Dobby did so, and nothing happened. Carefully, I descended from the air and landed next to him.

"_Accio _cloth." An old, moth-eaten school robe flew to me. Dobby wrapped it around the Diadem many times. I would consider the Horcrux safe only after I had used many advanced curse-breaking techniques on it and made some disposable wizard touch and wear it for a test. Just the job for Flint, I mused.

"Excellent work, Dobby," I said.

"Master Tom… thanks _Dobby?_" the elf stuttered, eyes filling with tears.

"Take me back to my dormitory and then return to Diagon Alley. Tomorrow, you will buy a strongbox, place the Diadem, still inside the cloth, in it, and deposit it in my Gringotts vault."

"Yes, Master Tom, sir!"

_Crack. Crack._

One found, four still to go.

* * *

According to legend, the Diadem of Ravenclaw enhanced the wisdom of whoever wore it. Either Voldemort had found it to be false, because he had not used it himself, or then he had decided he did not need more wisdom. (Perhaps wearing the Diadem had made him realize what kind of idiot he was, and he had angrily stopped using it.) Anyway, the lack of protective charms and curses that activated by touch along with the hiding place made me suspect the Diadem was a Horcrux Voldemort had meant to be found. Of course, one could never be sure of a madman's thought patterns.

I visited the library again, even though I knew that not even the Darkest book in the Restricted Section held the information I wanted. Voldemort was the only known wizard in history to create more than one Horcrux, and so there was literally zero research about what I planned to do. It was entirely possible there was no way at all to make Voldemort's Horcrux mine. It was equally possible it could be done just by reaching into the soul fragment trapped within, making it connect with my kindred soul. But there was a third possibility too, and it was the one that worried me.

Perhaps I would need to fight the other soul fragment, to force it to submission. But would I be capable of such a thing? Voldemort had made the Diadem his Horcrux later than the diary, perhaps even decades later. That meant the Diadem's soul fragment was much more powerful, more skilled, and more experienced than I was. If I fought it, I might end up being the one forced to submission. It might take over my body and imprison me in the Diadem instead. Who knew?

I considered many ideas for tactics. I could immerse the Diadem in alcohol and hope the soul fragment would become drunk, although drunkenness was probably just a physical state, not spiritual in any way. I could threaten the soul fragment with Basilisk venom if it did not submit, but was I seriously willing to carry out the threat? If I could get my hands on Felix Felicis, I might succeed with luck. (Even though I had tried to brew it since June, all my attempts had failed. I was beginning to suspect there was some trick in brewing the potion that was never written down. Why would any Potions Master give the public an easy access to extremely good luck?)

Perhaps it would be best to just wait. Even without a Horcrux I was unlikely to die accidentally, my numerous secondary safety precautions made sure of it. At least my odds of dying were significantly lower than the odds of being forced to submission by the soul fragment in the Diadem. If Voldemort had made his second Horcrux just a few months after the first one, I was already superior in my power and skills compared to it. I needed to find all of them, determine which one was the second in order, and try with it.

So, where, apart from Hogwarts, would I have hidden a Horcrux? That knowledge was probably contained in the Diadem, but it did not make me curious enough to take the risk of losing. Not yet.

A plan of fighting my fellow soul fragment formed in my mind over the next few days. It was the constant casting of new automatically activating Shield Charms on my bullet-proof vest that had given me an idea. I could defeat even a much more powerful opponent if I prepared an incredible amount of magical power to throw at them. Potions were the basic way of storing magical power for later use, but certain spells, like the automatically activating Shield Charm, were cast in advance and triggered when needed. I could create a volley of curses that struck the Diadem if the soul fragment decided to fight me.

I looked up the fundamental instructions to the Muggle Repelling Charm. It was a frighteningly complex mess of Runes and Arithmantic equations, but I was determined to master it and craft a new spell using similar principles. But how, exactly, did one fight a soul fragment inside a Horcrux without destroying it? A magical equivalent to a machine gun that cast Stunning Charms in quick succession might be totally useless against something so immaterial.

The Muggle Repelling Charm was actually a Confundus Charm that triggered when a Muggle entered the triggering zone. The Confundus Charm was known to have an effect on some magical items. That might be a good weapon against a Horcrux as well.

I began to copy the instruction, but unfortunately Harry and Ron had decided to spend the afternoon in the library in my company, and Ron's constant complaining disturbed me greatly.

"All right, what's your problem?" I snapped.

"It's Scabbers!" Ron said so loudly that the entire library resounded. "Hermione's cat has been hunting him for months now! The bloody cat is mental! He almost scalped me in the Magical Menagerie!"

"Why don't you hex him until he is conditioned to leave the rat in peace?"

"Then Hermione would scalp me!"

"That's a dead end. The situation will be solved when either the rat or the cat is removed from Gryffindor Tower. Since cats are higher on the food chain, I don't see much hope for your rat."

I resumed studying the Arithmantic equation about a Muggle triggering the Confundus Charm…

"Actually," I said, "I just realized how this problem can be overcome. It's really simple to change these parts of the Muggle Repelling Charm so that it triggers when a cat enters the triggering zone. I can craft a Cat Repelling Charm and cast it around your rat. Every time a cat comes too near, a Confundus Charm makes it ignore the rat."

"Amazing, Tom!" Ron shouted, making me wince. "You're the best!"

"Just don't interrupt my studies again," I grumbled and began the Spell-Crafting.

* * *

I finished crafting my first notable creation, the Triggered Firing Charm, just before the Christmas holiday, and I tested it in the Room of Requirement. First I had to cast the spell of my own design and then continue to cast whatever spell I wanted to fire. The latter spell did not go off at once, but waited for my signal.

I flicked my wand, and the Room filled with light and sound. The Stunning Charm, the Impediment Jinx, the Full Body-Bind Curse, the Cutting Charm, the Reductor Curse, and the Blasting Curse struck their respective target dummies at the same time. I grinned as I imagined Voldemort's expression if I used this method of launching a thousand curses at him simultaneously. The brute force would pierce any protection he might have and scatter his remains to the orbit.

Deciding that the project was a success, I left the Room and planned to reward myself with a merry Christmas. The Triggered Firing Charm was not perfect, obviously. I had not even tried to fire Unforgivable Curses with it, because they could not be contained.

I looked out of a window to the grounds. It was snowing, the white veil of winter replacing the darkness of late autumn. I felt my spirits soar. London was a horrible place in winter, and my first Christmas holiday at Hogwarts had been magical in more than just the literal way. I loved snow.

There were students trudging through the snow to the gates, and I realized it was the time for another Hogsmeade visit. Harry was probably angry that he could not visit the village during Christmas season. I decided to give him an early present and show him the secret passage to Honeydukes.

I headed towards Gryffindor Tower, but when I was just about to Confund Sir Cadogan to open the portrait door I heard Harry calling me from behind.

"Tom! There you are! I've got something interesting to show you!"

I turned around. He looked excited and waved an old parchment in his hand.

"What is it?"

"A way to Hogsmeade without going past the Dementors. Fred and George gave this to me. It's called the Marauder's Map, and it shows the whole castle and the grounds, including several passageways to Hogsmeade. Also, it shows people as small dots where they are. Look, we're standing here… but that's strange…"

I looked, amazed by the simple ingenuity of the item.

"This shows you as Tom _Riddle_, not _Valedro_."

I flinched. Although I had modified his memories so that he remembered me with my assumed name from the very beginning, there were still numerous ways he could learn my true name.

"_Confundo_." Harry's eyes became bleary and unfocused. "There's nothing strange with the Map showing me as Tom Riddle," I whispered.

I would have to find a solution to this name problem and quickly.

"You were saying?" I asked.

Harry woke up from his trance.

"Uh… sorry, I was… just distracted for some reason," he said. "Anyway, this passageway goes to Honeydukes, and there are no Dementors along the way."

The Weasley twins had thought about the same thing as I had. But why would they part with such a useful magic item?

"This Map is one magnificent piece of magic," I said, feeling all the more impressed. I looked at the named dots on the map and read many names, some very familiar, some only vaguely. _Albus Dumbledore _was pacing his study, _Mrs Norris_ was prowling the second floor, _Peeves _was bouncing around the trophy room, _Colin Creevey _was entering the library, _Poppy Pomfrey_ was in the hospital wing, _Peter Pettigrew_ was in Gryffindor Tower, _Marcus Belby _was hurrying towards Hogsmeade behind the main student group,_ Rubeus Hagrid_ was outside his hut meeting with _Minerva McGonagall_, _Filius Flitwick_, and, surprisingly, _Cornelius Fudge_…

"Let's go, I can't wait to see the village!" Harry said.

And so, after Harry fetched his cloak, we went to find the secret passage I was already familiar with, and when once again crouching while walking for miles I regretted not focusing on my Animagus project so that I could have comfortably slithered through the tunnel as a snake.

"Fred and George told me that the Map was made by a group of pranksters – Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs – who wanted the next generation to use it," Harry babbled enthusiastically.

I had trouble believing that. The Map was simply too advanced magic. No Hogwarts student could be skilled enough to create anything like it. Even I did not have the slightest idea of how such an item could be created, and I was the most talented student since Dumbledore. But why would some old and powerful wizards bother to create anything like it? What was Hogwarts to them?

No, whatever magic the Map used to function, it could not be any well known application. If it was, every member of staff would have such a map of their own. There would never be missing students, and pranksters like the Weasley twins would always be caught.

The Map needed to have an extremely wide-ranging ward that produced a continuous flow of information. To create such a ward would need a tremendous amount of magical power, but just for a map for _pranking? _No way!

Unless… of course! It was so simple!

The Map did _not_ have its own ward. It was somehow connected to the Hogwarts wards that had been created by the Founders. The Map's creators had, like Muggles would phrase it, _hacked_ the ancient wards and made them project their information onto the parchment. It truly was ingenious! Not an artefact with unique magic, but a user interface of an existing security magic. So simple that few people were clever enough to even consider such a solution. Great wizards were notoriously eager to craft everything from scratch. Hacking was beneath their dignity, and that limited their potential.

"Harry," I said, "I'd like to borrow that Map after we've returned to school. I may have an idea of how it was created. If I'm right, I may be able to duplicate it."

Perhaps the creators had found a physical anchor of the wards and hacked them at the location. Finding such an anchor would be very difficult; they were hidden for a very good reason. But I was almost certain that one such anchor was located in the Chamber of Secrets. There was no way Salazar would not have placed one in his own hidden base.

"Duplicate it?" Harry said, sounding as if he was bursting with excitement. "We'd all have one? It would help greatly if we ever have to do some sneaking at night!"

First I would have to find a solution to the name problem. I did not want any items on the loose that identified me as Tom Riddle. How did one change his name? Hogwarts' wards certainly had a clause for changing a name, because people got married and adopted new names. If I was going to hack into the wards anyway, I would have an opportunity to make them accept Valedro as my surname.

Eventually we arrived at Honeydukes and met Ron and Hermione there. Together we visited many places in the wintry village, including the unfamiliar Shrieking Shack. Harry was enjoying himself thoroughly, but I ended up just following the three younger ones, not really taking part in their conversation. I wanted to get back to Hogwarts, visit the Chamber of Secrets again, and start to investigate the wards.

Could it, by any chance, be possible to hack the wards to acknowledge me as the Headmaster? The thought made me smirk. That would be a fitting Christmas present for Dumbledore!

* * *

Published on the 12th of December, 2019.


	18. The First Noel

Chapter 18

THE FIRST NOEL

When I woke up on Christmas Day, I was greeted with a rare silence. All the other sixth-year Slytherin boys had left for the holiday and the dormitory was mine alone. Holidays had always been my favourite times at Hogwarts. No one to bother me, no classes to attend to, I had complete freedom to explore the castle and delve into obscure pieces of magic. More than once I had entertained myself with the idea of hiding and staying at Hogwarts over the summer. The thought made me suddenly remember Dumbledore rejecting my desperate pleas, and my mind filled with thoughts quite inappropriate for Christmas.

There was a huge pile of presents next to my four-poster. It was expected. Most people wanted to curry favour with the intelligent, powerful, and ruthlessly vengeful Tom Valedro. Most of the packages were, as was usual in my previous life, full of Chocolate Frogs and other sweets instead of something that required thought. I would share them with the ones who had given them to me. That would make them respect me even more, and that respect would fashion their loyalty.

I had spent nearly a thousand Galleons on Christmas presents and distributed them to almost every student I was in friendly contact with. I considered it a good use for the fortunes I had swindled with my lottery manipulations. (I had also given socks to Dumbledore just in case he was more easily manipulated as a senile old man than he had been as a younger man.) Some of the presents I had not needed to purchase at all. Dobby had found hundreds of interesting items in the Room of Requirement, and he had continued searching the Room even after he had found the Diadem. Among the items was a signet ring with the Malfoy coat of arms in it, and according to my diagnostic charms it cursed every letter sealed with it. I had given it to Draco. Theodore Nott had also received something that had belonged to his family: an old book of curses outlawed in the 18th century. I had, of course, made myself a copy of it first.

My Gryffindor friends had also received many presents from me. I had given Harry many kinds of accessories he would need when hunting Dark wizards, Hermione all the NEWT level textbooks, and Ginny and Ron new Cleansweep Eleven broomsticks. To Fred and George, who had approached me after the Performance and declared me Honorary Marauder (before Harry had shown me the Map I had not understood what they had meant), I had given a huge assortment of rare and expensive ingredients for their joke shop products. Even though I disliked Percy's pompous nature, I had not forgotten him. To him I had given a university textbook, _Introduction to Public Management_. It was just as dull as he was, and I was sure he would find it fascinating. (I had mused that if Percy went to work at the Ministry, reading that one book would probably make him one of the most competent officials.)

As every Christmas, the normal tables had been removed from the Great Hall and replaced with just one at which all students and members of the staff sat together. Apart from the usually sour Snape the atmosphere was warm and Christmassy, and I found myself being much fonder of other people than ever in my previous life. As I sat with Harry, Hermione, and the five Weasleys, they all thanked me for their presents, and I wondered if I was the only person that both Percy and the twins held in high regard. Percy babbled about the book almost without pause, and I endured through it only due to the entertainment provided by the twins when they added some strange spices to Percy's food without him noticing.

The lunch lasted for two hours, and luckily Percy was not the only one I managed to speak to. I initiated a conversation with Professors McGonagall and Flitwick about their areas of magical expertise, and they both mentioned my superb talents to the others. I was slightly worried at Dumbledore's curiosity; any association between me and the Tom Riddle he had known might have had disastrous consequences. In an attempt to distract the Headmaster's possible thoughts I told them about my violin lessons and how much they had helped me to concentrate on spellwork.

Then it turned out that Professor McGonagall was an adept violinist for the same reason as I was. At Dumbledore's suggestion we Summoned our violins and played The First Noel as a violin duet. As Dumbledore watched us, he was smiling serenely and, perhaps, a bit wistfully. I was convinced that he did not suspect me of being the cold and cruel orphan who had not cared about Christmas and who had never had the chance to play the violin.

I turned to look at my friends at the end of the table. Ginny was smiling gently, and I smiled back at her, not with my usual mischievous smirk, but with a genuine smile that expressed the positive feelings I had lacked in my previous life. Ginny had taught me to feel them, and I was grateful to her. For a brief while I was sorry for my other self who had fled his apathy to a totally wrong direction. As I played the merry tune with my violin, I felt apathy would never haunt me again.

I was playing The First Noel, and in many ways it was the first Christmas of my life.

* * *

Later, in the early evening, I left Hogwarts castle in order to attend the prestigious Malfoy Yule Ball. Since I was officially leaving the school, I walked across the grounds towards the gate; had I called Dobby to Side-Along-Apparate me away, Dumbledore might have realized there was some way of coming and going through the wards. However, I was not going to go through the gates, or my good mood would have become the meal of the Dementors' endless appetite. I went behind some trees near the road, and then summoned Dobby to take me home.

My home in Diagon Alley was not decorated for Christmas; it actually looked quite sad in its uninhabited state. But it was just a waypoint. I took a letter from an envelope. It was the invitation from the Malfoys, and also a Portkey that activated when pressed at the Malfoy coat of arms after the names of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy.

When it was the time, I activated the Portkey. The magic took me away from my home, and shortly afterwards I materialized in the atrium of Malfoy Manor in Wiltshire. I was immediately welcomed by the striking grandeur of the wealth of the Malfoys: gold and silver shone on every surface of the voluminous baroque-style ornaments, curtains were made of the finest brocade magic could weave, and the chandeliers sparkled with a dozen colours of the crystals and jewels attached to them. It was snowing outside, probably due to a Weather Charm so that the guests could enjoy a perfect evening.

I was greeted by a pair of truly magnificent-looking people. Lucius Malfoy was a personification of aristocratic elegance, and he radiated the dangerous charisma of a prominent Dark wizard. Narcissa Malfoy was as graceful and beautiful as one could imagine a queen would be; she looked at least ten years younger than she was.

"Mr Valedro, welcome," Lucius said with as much enthusiasm as suited his sophistication. "Our son Draco has told us much about you, and we are happy to finally meet you in person. The Slytherin leader of the next generation, am I correct?"

"I certainly hope so, sir," I said. "The House of Slytherin has been receptive to my ideas, and I have every intention to continue that way."

"Our Yule Ball is the perfect opportunity for you to connect yourself with the powerful of the British nation. Everyone is invited."

That was, obviously, an exaggeration. Dumbledore was never allowed to set foot in Malfoy Manor, and prominent members of those pure-blood families who were not political allies of the Malfoys, like Amelia Bones and Augusta Longbottom, were absent as well.

Draco greeted me the moment I stepped into the ballroom. He was hosting his own party for the children, most of them very familiar to me. Pansy Parkinson, Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, Daphne Greengrass, and a few Ravenclaws from Draco's year were there, as well as a dozen Hogwarts students more from other years. (Crabbe and Goyle were nowhere to be seen, and I assumed they were helping the house-elves.)

I did not consider my place to be among the children, and so I joined Ethan Jugson and his older brother Robert as they were socializing with the older guests. I shook many hands and exchanged pleasantries with many rich and powerful witches and wizards. One of them was the jovial Cornelius Fudge, who was neither very intelligent nor magically talented; I was not sure if he understood it himself, but he was the Minister only because Lucius and Dumbledore were both able to take advantage of his gullibility.

Among the guests there were some whom I had known in my previous life. Nott's grandfather, also named Theodore, had been my dormmate, and he had become one of the first Death Eaters. He had been a secretive young man, and I had found him to be less easy to control than my other dormmates. Perhaps there was some truth in his claims that he had not fully supported Voldemort, just like Lucius and Abraxas had claimed.

Madam Zabini, a beauty equal to Narcissa Malfoy, smiled radiantly at me when we met. Standing behind her was her husband, an older man who looked frail and sickly, as if he might die at any moment. After them I had to exchange pleasantries with a repulsive bureaucrat witch from the Ministry who looked like she had consumed Polyjuice Potion with something of a toad in it and had not had the effect healed. Several other Ministry officials followed her, making me feel increasingly bored, until one very remarkable elder gentleman arrived, glancing around grimly. I recognized him immediately.

Bartemius Crouch had been the Head Boy and the undisputed student leader of Slytherin during my first year at Hogwarts. He was one of the two living people (Grindelwald was the other one) whom I had ever admired and considered my role models; he was a much better personification of Salazar Slytherin's ideals than the haughty aristocrats like Lucius Malfoy. Crouch was an aristocrat too, but he had always had a strong sense of duty to do his part for the community. Instead of living a carefree life of luxury he could have afforded, he had worked for the Ministry and become respected and powerful by his own merits, not just by the family he had been born to.

I had been pleased to learn that Crouch had not joined the Death Eaters. He had understood what kind of abomination Voldemort had become, and dedicated his life to restore the real ideals of Slytherin. But the war had taken toll on the man. He had aged prematurely, he had lost his family, and he had become somewhat paranoid and obsessed. I wondered if the only reason he attended the Malfoy Yule Ball was the opportunity to investigate if Lucius had lied about being Imperiused.

The next guest to arrive was the centre of every British high society: the cheerful, rotund Horace Slughorn, the total antithesis of Crouch's reserved demeanour. He shook many hands and praised his former pupils and especially himself. Eventually he came to me and said,

"You must be the promising Tom Valedro I have been told about. Earning the leadership of the Slytherin students in a month, eh? I was the Head of House Slytherin when I taught at Hogwarts, you know. When I heard about you I almost regretted my decision to retire!"

"Luckily a real, cunning Slytherin doesn't need a formal status to wield power," I said.

"Yes, you're right, m'boy," he boomed, looking at me closely. "You remind me of a most remarkable student I once had." His expression turned melancholic. "Tom… you even share his name."

"There are a lot of Toms," I repeated the words I had once said to Dumbledore.

"But not every Tom is like you and… and the other one," Slughorn said and looked at Theodore Nott the Elder who had been my study partner in Potions classes.

The conversation was beginning to unsettle me, but fortunately there were many people who demanded Slughorn's attention, including the Jugson brothers next to me. As they took advantage of my silence and began to flatter Slughorn, I withdrew from the ballroom, not wanting to socialize for a while.

I entered a gallery hall that served as a kind of a family museum of the House of Malfoy. There was a huge family tree, closely intertwined with the family trees of other pure-blood families, especially the Blacks and the Lestranges. There were portraits of witches and wizards from several past centuries, and their biographies.

I was pleased to learn that the Malfoys of the 17th century had opposed the International Statute of Secrecy; they had proclaimed that wizards had the right and the duty to rule over Muggles. I knew Draco was still somewhat doubtful towards my grand plan of following Grindelwald's example, but since Grindelwald had been following some of Draco's ancestors, the fact might finally convince him.

Many of the Malfoy ancestors were portrayed in clerical attires. Since I had studied the history of wizards and Christianity after Hallowe'en, it did not surprise me. Before the Statute of Secrecy, many wizards had actually been religious leaders to the Muggles. It was easy to fake miracles with magic, and that was why wizards had been very successful in the clerical field. Only after the Statute of Secrecy had wizards slowly abandoned all the other aspects of Christianity except some traditions like holidays.

During those more religious times it had been a part of the blood purist dogma that wizards were descended from angels or Christ himself, and that magic was a divine power, proof that wizards had the Mandate of Heaven to rule. The Statute of Secrecy had eventually silenced such claims, and an important part of wizarding cultural history had died out. At the end of the 20th century wizards had little interest in philosophical discussion, let alone theological.

Soon a bell rang and the Christmas dinner began. Fortunately, I did not need to sit anywhere near Snape who had arrived while I had been in the gallery. I ate very little, just tasted the finest pieces of magical dishes, because I had eaten so much at lunch.

After dinner was time for the actual ball. I had some basic training in dancing, because Mrs Cole had considered it her duty to make the orphans civilized subjects of His Majesty, and certain upper-class habits had been central in that project. I danced with Daphne Greengrass, Carrie Runcorn, and Sara Jugson, and did my best to evade the toad-lady who had trouble finding herself a partner.

After some time I decided that I had fulfilled my social obligation to the party, and proceeded to advance the purpose because of which I had accepted the invitation in the first place. I filled my goblet with mulled wine and sat on an armchair in front of a hearth, joining a conversation of a small circle of former Death Eaters: Lucius, Theodore Nott the Elder, and Robert Jugson Senior.

"Ah, Mr Valedro, our inside man at Hogwarts," Nott said, addressing me in a very different tone than fifty years earlier. "We were talking about the Sirius Black debacle at Hogwarts. Do you have some new insight to the matter?"

"I have not entirely ruled out the possibility that it was just a feint by Albus Dumbledore," I said. "The man seems to gain profit from an occasional crisis. The truth is that a large portion of wizarding Britain is worried for their safety, and in times like these people have sought safety in Dumbledore. But Black's supposed actions at Hogwarts make no sense. Surely a killer of his calibre could do more than slash a painting a few times."

"I never thought much of Black," Jugson scoffed. "I remember the first ruckus he caused when he was the first Black ever to be a Gryffindor."

"I cannot believe the Dark Lord trusted him as a double agent," Nott muttered.

"I think it is totally in character for him," I said, getting wary looks from the others. "The Dark Lord probably saw himself in the young Mr Black. He had to force you to serve him, but reckless idiots like Black flocked behind him all by themselves."

The former Death Eaters looked very uneasy.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I know you have to keep up appearances," I said, making it obscure what was it I actually implied. I looked Lucius straight in the eyes. "If the Dark Lord returned and summoned all those who he had commanded before, would you answer his summons?"

Lucius was silent for a long moment, contemplating and staring into the dancing flames in the hearth.

"The Dark Lord," he said finally, "is astonishingly powerful. It was fear that kept the Death Eaters in line. Few of them, after all, were willing to wage war. But disobeying the Dark Lord's orders, or even protesting against his most reckless judgements, was punished with immense pain. Some of the Death Eaters, my sister-in-law among them, began to worship him as a dark god. That may seem quite extreme, but then again… he does command powers beyond our reckoning, and that is why so many believe he did achieve immortality."

"And you don't want to set your family in danger," I said. "I understand."

"What would you do, Mr Valedro," Lucius asked, "if the Dark Lord returned and demanded that all Slytherins joined his ranks? Many young Slytherins look up to you, and they may be inclined to follow your example. Should you choose to oppose the Dark Lord, he would likely seek you out and make you a demonstration of disloyalty."

"Disloyalty? Hm… I trust Draco has told you about my theory of the Dark Lord's identity?"

"He has indeed, and I will have to say, it inspired many thoughts. However, while it makes sense in a way, I am not convinced. It is true that Dumbledore did never confront the Dark Lord, but that does not prove anything. Dumbledore is a very public figure, and I am absolutely certain there were countless times when I was in the Dark Lord's presence while Dumbledore was confirmed to be either at Hogwarts, the Wizengamot, or the International Confederation of Wizards. Perhaps this could have been arranged using Polyjuice Potion or other means of disguising, but it still seems improbable."

"Well, to answer your question, I'm not sure what I would do. But this is a certainty: I would never pledge my loyalty to him and him alone. Loyalty is a virtue of the Hufflepuffs. As a Slytherin, I understand that sides and alliances are fleeting. I intend to always be on the winning side."

"An admirable plan. We Malfoys have long been using a similar strategy. There has never been a Minister for Magic from the House of Malfoy, but it has never prevented us from using great power. Ministers come and go, but there is always, behind each of them, a Malfoy as an advisor. I believe that is the reason the Dark Lord was so keen to force me and my father to his service using the Imperius Curse."

"The way the Dark Lord created his Death Eater corps has always perplexed me," I said. "I've studied history extensively, and there's certain regularity in how radical revolutionary groups and terrorist organizations are born, both in the wizarding and Muggle worlds. There's always this charismatic leader who is often wealthy and well-educated, and his followers who are primarily bitter and desperate young men, people who lack a stable livelihood, respect from the society, and a spouse. The followers become staunch supporters of the ideology their leader advocates, but it's not actually the ideology that they find appealing. They see this radical movement as a way of escaping the misery of their lives. The leader offers them hope of a better future. The ideology is just a façade for them, a rationalization."

Lucius was regarding me in his dignified way, with just a very slight frown. Nott's expression was inscrutable, while Jugson looked somewhat offended.

"But there's one exception," I continued and gestured at the lavish opulence of Malfoy Manor. "The Dark Lord was one of the charismatic leaders I described, but his followers were different. He became the leader of British aristocracy, people who lacked nothing. How was it possible? Why did the powerful pure-blood wizards resort to rebellion against the very Ministry where they held so much power? I find it ironic that if they had just pursued the most important positions at the Ministry and used their financial assets to bribe other officials, they would've probably achieved everything they wanted, without needing to spill magical blood and endanger their own lives too."

"The Dark Lord's campaign did not stem from the followers," Lucius said. "The Dark Lord forced us to become his followers. Few dared to sneer at his radical methods after he had demonstrated his willingness to use the Cruciatus Curse. He wanted war and conquest; other strategies did not appeal to him, even if they would have been more effective."

"You said he'd judge my opposition to him as disloyalty. He actually considers himself the leader of all Slytherins. But he is wrong. Slytherins are not mindless pawns who gather around a power-hungry megalomaniac. Such behaviour is more typical for Gryffindors, and that's one of the reasons I began to suspect him to be a guise of Dumbledore. To disregard more effective strategies is just… the least Slytherin thing there can possibly be."

Lucius was nodding as if the gesture was involuntary. Nott, on the other hand, stared at me like Slughorn earlier.

"I once knew someone who spoke much like you," he whispered. "Not those words, exactly… but in that _style_."

"Oh, could that be the same person Mr Slughorn told me about?" I questioned. "Was his name Tom?"

"Yes… yes, it was."

"I wonder what became of him."

"He… he changed. Eventually, he was nothing like before."

_Voldemort is just a perverted shadow of me, an insult, a kind of a mirror-image, one that has turned all of my virtues to their opposites_. Those were the words I had thought in the second morning of my new life.

"Did he, um, disappear at some point of his life?"

"Shortly after Hogwarts… and he was gone for years," Nott said with a voice very uncharacteristic for him. Lucius and Jugson were looking at him with visible confusion and trepidation.

"That doesn't sound like a difficult mystery to solve," I said dismissively. "Perhaps a similar thing happened to him as happened with the Dark Lord and Dumbledore. He died, allowing someone to steal his identity in order to make use of his reputation. However, the acting was lousy, and the reappeared Tom was nothing like the original."

Nott mumbled something, and I smirked to myself. The seeds of doubt had been planted. Eventually Nott would get his school time friend back, and I would herd all Slytherins into my new conspiracy.

* * *

Obviously published on the 25th of December, 2019.


	19. Vision and Revelation

Chapter 19

VISION AND REVELATION

I was sitting in the main hall of the Chamber of Secrets and scrutinized the result of my weeks of toil. It was a parchment that showed Hogwarts castle and grounds, as well as all people marked as small named dots. I compared the map to the other, much older parchment. Apart from the greeting of Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs, the two maps were identical.

_Harry Potter_, _Ronald Weasley_, and _Hermione Granger_ were sitting together in the library, _Draco Malfoy_, _Vincent Crabbe_, and _Gregory Goyle_ were relaxing in front of the fireplace in the Slytherin common room, _Remus Lupin_ and _Rubeus Hagrid_ were in the Forbidden Forest hunting Dark creatures for Lupin's lessons, _Lee Jordan_ was preparing a prank outside the prefects' bathroom, _Cuthbert Binns_ was lecturing to an empty classroom, _Peter Pettigrew_ was visiting the kitchen, _Percival Weasley_ and _Penelope Clearwater_ were clearly taking their Head Boy and Girl duties very seriously by being on a voluntary patrol in an unused hallway, making sure no student was doing anything naughty…

I had made it! The Marauder's Map was no longer the only item in existence that could track people at Hogwarts.

Creating a new map had not actually been very difficult. Since I knew making one was possible using only student level skills, I had just needed to keep looking for the right trick until I succeeded. I had searched the Chamber of Secrets many times, even asking help from the Basilisk, and eventually I had found a small, unremarkable stone with hidden runes carved in it. It was an anchor stone of the Hogwarts wards placed in a narrow crevice, hidden from the sight of those Heirs of Slytherin who did not specifically look for it.

The most difficult part after that had been to learn how to use the runes. Fortunately, they were designed to be used, and after trial and error I had found the part that tracked every being. I was quite sure there had once been an official map which had displayed the information the ward gathered, because my new map had started to function immediately after having been connected to the ward.

I proceeded to connect more parchments to the ward; five new maps to be given to Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and the Weasley twins. I would keep the original Marauder's Map myself, because the new ones had a special property which I had added: I could deactivate them whenever I pleased, or make them hide the whereabouts of people I did not want them to show. (When I gave tools to others, I made sure they could not be used against me.) Also, I had connected each of them to a small piece of parchment that told me which ones of the new maps were active. Of course, my little friends did not need to know about such necessary precautions.

I left the Chamber of Secrets, and after arriving in the girls' bathroom (the wards could not detect anything in the Chamber), I looked at the maps. There was a new dot on each of them: _Tom Valedro_ – not _Riddle_ anymore. Changing my name had been very straightforward. Unfortunately, I had not been able to make myself the Headmaster, because there was some requirement coded in the ward, probably the willing consent of the previous holder of the office.

Exactly as the maps showed me, I found Fred and George in a room in the dungeons, next to the Potions classroom. They had probably smuggled ingredients from Potions classes, and with the set I had given them at Christmas they had begun to create their prank sweets.

"What's this, an unauthorized laboratory?" I barked from the doorway, making them jump.

"Valedro," one of them said. "Some manners!"

"I wouldn't call this an unauthorized laboratory," said the other one. "You gave many of these ingredients to us. I would call that an implicit authorization by a prefect."

"Good point there. However, it was not your Potions that brought me here. I've a reason to suspect a much more severe violation of school rules. Have you ever seen this?" I showed them the Marauder's Map.

The twins' expressions went from shocked to hurt.

"Harry told you about it?"

"You – a prefect."

"A person of authority!"

"Are you forgetting how I became a prefect? Not by being Percy. I pranked Snape and the Slytherin Quidditch team in front of the entire school, and you called me an Honorary Marauder. True to that recognition, I studied this Map Harry showed me in order to create these!"

I showed them the new maps.

"That's right, I was able to create more Marauder's Maps," I pointed out to their greedy faces. "One of them shall be yours in exchange for a small service on your part."

"You certainly are a true Marauder," one of the twins said.

"But a Slytherin at the same time," said the other one. "And such a deadly combination freaks us out. What do you want us to do?"

"I have need for your creative and unscrupulous minds. I have a meeting next Thursday after dinner with Harry and friends in the secret room in the hallway of Barnabas the Barmy. Join us in training to fight against the Dark Arts. When we combine our wits, we will create the means of pranking Sirius Black and his ilk into oblivion. I will teach you my own Gravity Amplifying Charm. I'm sure you'll be able to come up with many uses for it."

"We'll be there," the twins said, smirking.

"There's your map," I said, offering them one. "And thanks for giving the original one to Harry."

After leaving the twins with their concoctions, I headed towards the library where I found Harry, Ron, and Hermione busy with homework.

"I still don't get it," Ron was complaining. "You simply don't have enough time for all subjects. And if it's supposed to be a mistake that some of your lessons are marked to be at the same time in your timetable, why haven't you corrected them?"

"If you minded your own problems, maybe you wouldn't need my help with your essays," Hermione snapped.

Hermione's strange lesson plans had been a constant topic of discussion with my three Gryffindor minions, something I found quite annoying. Ron really should have focused on more important matters.

"Hello, my young friends," I said. "As I've said before, I think Hermione is doing the right thing by studying Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. They're quite useful subjects, and today I can show you just how."

I gave each of them a new Marauder's Map.

"Created with my knowledge of Arithmancy and Runes. It is possible to use magical creatures in mischief, but more profound magical skills help you have your _mischief managed_."

The parchments cleared of all ink markings.

"Oh, thank you, Tom," Hermione said. "But I'm not that much into mischief…"

"That's too bad, because you have to solemnly swear that you are up to no good to use your Map. We must respect the original creators of this most impressive piece of magic."

"No more bumping into Mr Filch or Snape in the hallways," Harry grinned. "By the way, Tom, there's something I can do for you in return. Professor Lupin has agreed to teach me the Patronus Charm, and we've already had one lesson. Would you like to join us tomorrow? You're surely going to learn the spell faster than I am."

Harry had asked for my help after the Quidditch match, and I had tried to teach him the theory of the Patronus. We had not made any progress in our lessons in the Room of Requirement, because I just could not master the spell myself. It needed a mindset incompatible with my nature, even with everything I had learned from Ginny.

Then again, Dementor exposure was something people could become resistant against. Even if I would never learn to repel Dementors, at least I should grasp the opportunity to learn to withstand their influence long enough to Disapparate to safety. But there was also another thing that made me consider Harry's offer. It seemed strange, but in a way the idea of facing my inner darkness felt tempting. (According to books, this was not unheard of. Some people had morbid fascination towards Dementor exposure.) On the train I had learned much about myself, but there might be more.

"All right, I'll be there," I decided. "No need to tell me the time or the place. I'll find you." With a wave of the Marauder's Map, I left the library.

* * *

The next evening was a usual one in the Slytherin common room. I showed the next spell to the Slytherin Duelling Club, added a text written by the immensely powerful witch Zoë Porphyrogenita to the list of recommendations for the Slytherin Reading Club, and took part in one of the discussions in the Slytherin Debate Society. When I noticed from the Marauder's Map that Harry and Professor Lupin were together in the History classroom, I excused myself and left the common room, suddenly feeling some reluctance towards facing a Boggart pretending to be a Dementor.

When I pushed open the door to the classroom, I found Harry and Professor Lupin sitting and drinking hot chocolate.

"Hello, Tom," Lupin greeted. "Harry already had one go against the Boggart. We're getting ready for the next try. Do you know how to cast the Patronus?"

"In theory," I said. "I haven't given much thought to a happy memory."

I sat down and took my cup of hot chocolate. So, a happy memory? Usually I did not dwell in the past, because I always had many plans for the future that demanded my full attention.

I had been in high spirits after I had broken free from the diary. I had been absolutely gleeful watching Vernon Dursley when he had realized that Harry had become the owner of Grunnings. Watching the Slytherin Quidditch team taunting Snape had been so comical that I had only barely managed not to laugh like so many others. But each one of these moments lacked something that was needed to conjure the Patronus. Perhaps I should concentrate on the brief moment during the Christmas feast when I had played The First Noel. It had been a rare moment of no plans to advance, no future benefit to look forward to, just living in the moment. Not fleeing the apathy, but free from it.

Harry and Lupin were talking about Harry's parents, and I quickly inferred that Lupin had known them in his school years. That made me recall Snape's words on Hallowe'en:

_Do you think it is a mere coincidence that Black managed to enter Hogwarts just two months after you appointed his good –_

James Potter and Sirius Black had been such good friends that Black had even been named Harry's godfather. Lupin had known Harry's parents. Then, most likely, he knew Black, too. And since I trusted Snape's judgment more than Dumbledore's when it came to traitors, I decided I should be more distrustful towards Lupin.

"They're buried in the graveyard of Godric's Hollow," Lupin mumbled, unaware of my suddenly less favourable thoughts about him. "I've visited it many times. They've got a simple tombstone… engraved are their names, dates of birth and death… and a message. _The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death_."

"Wait – _what?_" I blurted.

"It's a biblical quote," Lupin explained. "Hm… perhaps I shouldn't have begun to talk about these things when we're about to practice the Patronus."

I felt as if some significant realization was about to manifest in my mind, but then Harry and Lupin stood up and faced a packing case. Hoping I would be able to grasp the realization later, I stood up as well.

At a flick of Lupin's wand, the packing case opened, and light and warmth drained away from the classroom. The Boggart's imitation of a Dementor was not as powerful as a real one, but easily strong enough to overwhelm me if I did not put up a fight. I was already wondering why I had come in the first place.

"_Expecto Patronum!_" Harry said with a voice full of determination, but apart from a tiny spark of silver at the tip of his wand, nothing happened.

"_Expecto Patronum_," I said too, but in a very discouraged voice. My wand felt dead. Suddenly I realized what the point in casting the Patronus Charm was, it was right there in the incantation. You could only cast it if you expected that you could make it.

I repeated the incantation, concentrating on the Christmas feast. I had played the violin. I had looked at Ginny… but had she really looked that worried? No, it had been a happy occasion, everyone full of positive emotions. I had even felt safe in Dumbledore's presence, even though _he sat on his throne with an evil grin on his old face, his wand in his hand._

_I stopped playing the violin. He was not Dumbledore! The old man who stood up looked different, but still I could easily recognize the features._

_Grindelwald, the Dark Lord who had doomed me to a childhood of misery by causing the world economy to collapse, had come to Hogwarts!_

_I dropped the violin and reached for my wand, but I was too late: the Dark Lord whipped his wand, and a terrible curse blasted against me in an instant._

* * *

_It was a clear night when I followed the path with Harry and Lupin. The world was asleep, even the trees stood in total silence. We three companions were also silent, each of us deep in our own thoughts._

_Then I heard the distant roar of a rapid. The path ended to a bank of a mighty river where water was running at dangerous speed. There was no bridge. Only those who dared to swim could reach the other side._

"_This is not a problem magic cannot solve," I said._

_We all took out our wands and waved them, binding fallen tree trunks into a sturdy bridge. Thanking fate for being a wizard, I began to cross the river._

_But we stopped in our tracks when we saw a tall figure in a black cloak blocking the way._

"_Congratulations," said a voice that made me shiver. "Cleverness beats bravery. I am used to travellers dying in the river. It is such an easy way of collecting souls that I have grown bored. You offer me rare challenge. For that, I am willing to reward you."_

"_Who are you?" Harry demanded, pointing the cloaked figure with his wand._

"_I am Death", was the answer, and the figure opened his crimson eyes. Razor-sharp intelligence gleamed in them, and I realized he was someone who knew how to play the long game, never letting any hardship discourage him._

"_What do you mean with rewarding us?" I asked._

"_I will grant you your wishes," Death proclaimed. "Anything you want, my friends."_

_I did not have to think for long._

"_I want power!" I said. "Give me something I can use to defeat my enemies!"_

_Death grinned and went to take a branch of an elder tree that stood on the river bank. Very quickly he crafted a wand of it and handed it to me._

"_An invincible wand," he presented. "Your enemies will not stand a chance."_

_I accepted the gift, feeling amazing power ready to erupt at my command. The wand looked vaguely familiar as I studied its every detail, but I was not certain when and where I had encountered its likeness._

_Death had turned to Harry._

"_I want my mother and father back," he said simply._

_Death fetched a small stone from under the elder tree and gave it to Harry._

"_Turn it thrice in your hand and you will be reunited with your loved ones again. Nothing will separate you; your next great adventure will be a mutual one."_

_It was Lupin's turn._

"_I have a secret I want to keep from others. Give me something to hide it forever."_

_Death took off his cloak and offered it to Lupin, briefly looking very unwilling to part with it._

"_You have outsmarted Death," the red-eyed god rumbled like a distant thunder. "Go, and use your gifts… entertain me."_

_I would certainly entertain myself; there was no doubt about it. The wand seemed as impatient as I was to use its power, and with new briskness in my steps I continued my journey, giving no thought whatsoever to Harry and Lupin and their gifts from Death._

_The power to defeat my enemies! Voldemort, that disgraceful shadow of myself, was about to meet his end. But he was hiding somewhere as a pitiful ghost._

"_Invincible wand," I whispered in rapture, "guide me to my enemy!"_

_A restless ball of light burst from the wand, showing me the right direction. I followed, almost ran through the forest, anticipation of my total victory inspiring me._

_Eventually the ball of light led me out of the forest. It grew brighter as it signalled me that I was close. I rushed from between the last two trees, eager to see Voldemort's hideout, but the sight was not what I had expected. In front of me stood the majestic silhouette of Hogwarts castle._

_Then I realized. Voldemort was not my great enemy. He was just a nuisance, because his idiocy and lack of imagination offered me no real challenge. The one I had come for was Dumbledore, that hypocritical saint who prevented us wizards from ruling the world for the Greater Good of all._

_As the wand hummed with power, I navigated through the hallways and into the Headmaster's office. It was time for Dumbledore to meet the creator of my wand._

_I opened the door._

"_Would you like to have a sherbet lemon?" the unsuspecting fool said genially._

"_You don't need to offer me Veritaserum," I said. "I've come to tell you the truth willingly. Tom Valedro is just a guise for which I have no need anymore. With this wand in my possession, I will never again cower in fear of the likes of you! I am Tom Riddle!"_

_I dispelled my disguising charms and revealed the face Dumbledore was most familiar with._

_But the Headmaster was not stunned or shocked. Instead, he giggled in a way that was in total discord with his appearance._

"_And I ruined your childhood!" the old wizard jeered and flicked his wand in exactly the same way as I had done before._

_Grindelwald was (again) revealed from under the appearance of Dumbledore._

"_You! So, you have been my great enemy all along! You caused the Great Depression just to torment me!"_

"_That is the way I act, but…"_

_An explosion of magical might shook the walls as I turned the power of the invincible wand against Grindelwald. He tried to counter me, but there was no defence against the power Death himself had unleashed into the world._

"… _but," he groaned as my spells brought him to his knees, "but I am not your great enemy."_

"_Then who is?"_

"_The last enemy," the dying Dark Lord whispered. "The last enemy that shall be destroyed is…"_

"… _Death," I finished for him, feeling dread wash over me._

_Grindelwald was looking in my direction, but not at me. Slightly over my shoulder… I turned in haste, and felt the power of a thousand Dementors enfold me._

_Black hair, pearly white skin, glowing crimson eyes, mischievous smirk… Death was looming at the doorway in his full otherworldly glory, a silver scythe in his hand. It dawned to me in an instant that he had been veiling his formidable charisma when I had met him on the bridge. Even though he looked like a human, he was more like a black hole that could devour entire stars and snuff out their light forever._

_The horror I had felt when Dumbledore had pretended setting my cupboard on fire was nothing compared to the one I felt when Death towered over me in the Headmaster's office._

"_You were not alone this time," Death said, arching his eyebrows in interest._

_Before I had the time to wonder what he was talking about, darkness overcame me, and my thoughts faded to nothingness._

* * *

Lupin brought me back to reality with the Reviving Charm and shoved a chocolate bar into my hand. I looked around feebly before sighing. The Boggart was back in its packing case, Grindelwald safely in his cell in Nurmengard, and Death and his invincible wand in a children's story. Everything should have been fine, but I was feeling exceedingly pessimistic.

Harry seemed to gain some self-confidence from the fact that we had suffered the Dementor's power together, but his encouraging words just irritated me.

After eating the chocolate I mumbled something appropriate to Lupin and left the classroom. The words he and Grindelwald in my vision had said repeated in my mind as I tried to grasp the realization that had almost struck me.

_The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death_.

Voldemort had named his followers _Death Eaters_.

There it was. For the first time in my new life I considered whether I had totally misjudged Voldemort. Could it be that he had not been just a sorry shadow of me, but that his actions had actually had some deeper purpose, and his perverted crusade against Muggle-borns had been just deception to hide it?

Voldemort had wandered the world for a quarter of a century before reappearing as a twisted snake-man. He had already been immortal when he had given the name to his organization, but clearly he had not considered his mission complete. There were many things that _Death Eating_ could mean. Had he found some ancient knowledge about Death and the Otherworld, and formed a new plan of utterly defeating Death? Or, perhaps, _replacing_ him? I had lived the first eleven years of my life in the Muggle world before discovering a world of literal wonders, and so I was not going to discard mythologies like Death as an actual entity just because they were something out of stories.

In a way I hoped that the one who was my kindred soul would not be such a disappointment as I had judged him, but there was something more. Dumbledore, the man who spoke highly of the next great adventure and who had done nothing while Muggles had laid waste to the world's resources, decimated natural environments, and created nuclear weapons… that man had been Voldemort's enemy. If Voldemort had been fighting against Death, then obviously his enemy had been fighting in favour of it.

Perhaps I was just being paranoid, but it was feeling more and more likely that Dumbledore was secretly steering the world towards the death of everything… for the Greater Evil.

* * *

Published on the 24th on January, 2020.


	20. Dead Man Talking

Chapter 20

DEAD MAN TALKING

Even though Harry asked me to come to the next Patronus lesson, I decided not to. My futile attempt to cast a spell that totally disagreed with me had reminded me of my limits. Besides, even the thought of facing a Dementor again and seeing another vision of Death gave me shudders.

Instead I went to the library and began to seek obscure knowledge about beliefs and myths in various cultures of the wizarding world. Whatever knowledge remained of Atlantis, translated hieroglyphs of Ancient Egypt, archives of the Chinese emperors, the rare published texts about the Veil of Death located in the Department of Mysteries… any one of them might have the key to the mystery of Voldemort's travels that might possibly have something to do with Death.

As the pile of books I had leafed through became higher and higher, I began to lose inspiration. Then I remembered one of the lessons of Salazar Slytherin. _Not every mystery has a cunning plot behind it_. Death as the last enemy whom Voldemort had supposedly wanted to eat and Dumbledore knowingly letting the Muggles ruin the world was a compelling explanation that made sense, but it did not prove anything. Unlike fiction, reality did not need to make sense or to be narratively satisfying. Perhaps Voldemort was, after all, just a lunatic twisted by his Horcrux rituals and Dumbledore an oblivious slob who shirked from the responsibilities the status of the most powerful wizard in the world gave him.

However, I decided to ask my old friend Theodore Nott the Elder about what he knew of Voldemort's studies with the arcane arts. As Voldemort had considered servants necessary for his quest and worthy of the title of Death Eaters, they had to have some insight to their master's grand plan. And who would Voldemort have trusted the most if not Nott, the most promising of our school time associates?

As weeks passed, Harry's practice with the Patronus bore fruit. In February he showed me the white mist he was able to conjure. It did not look very strong, but I was not in the position to scoff at his performance. Perhaps one day he would be able to produce a corporeal form, and as my right-hand man use his skill to protect me from Dementors.

Every now and then I wished I had at least some aptitude to the magical disciplines that Dark wizards did not embrace. Every time I looked out of a window to the gates, I imagined seeing a faint spectre of Death looming over where the Dementors were. When alone in my dormitory, I often fingered my diary aimlessly. It should have been my insurance against death, but ever since I had escaped from my self-imposed imprisonment I had been vulnerable. My thoughts drifted to the Horcrux Diadem waiting in Gringotts, and the urge to bind it to me itched and burned in my mind. I had also made plans of seeking out the other Horcruxes Voldemort had created and hidden, and I had decided to finally visit my ancestral lands in Yorkshire at Easter.

The fighting lessons had become much livelier after Fred and George had become frequent participants. Encouraged by me, they used their creativity and talent for trouble-making for a good purpose, and our battle simulations turned into realistically fast-paced chaos full of distractions. Even I felt that I was becoming more battle-hardened. The progress was noticeable also in my Kwikspell lessons I attended every weekend.

As March approached, Harry and the twins had to spend more and more time at Quidditch practices, but I continued with Ginny, Hermione, and Ron. When the time for the Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw match came, I did not bother to waste my time watching it. When I received the news of the outcome, I was not surprised: catching the Snitch had determined the winner and everything the other players had done had been redundant. As usual.

The Gryffindors threw a victory party in their common room. I retired to my dormitory without the faintest idea of what was happening in the dark hallways of Hogwarts.

* * *

Most of my fellow Slytherins slept longer than I did, and I was among the first to arrive at the Great Hall for breakfast. To my surprise, almost every Gryffindor was present, looking very tired and whispering to one another in clear agitation. Usually Gryffindor was the last House to arrive, because they lived further away than Slytherins and Hufflepuffs, and most of them lacked the diligence that made Ravenclaws wake up early.

I had barely sat down when my name was called, and an absolutely thrilled Ron came running to me with Harry, Hermione, and Ginny on his heels.

"Haven't you heard? Sirius Black tried to kill me last night!"

"Is this just…"

"It was not a nightmare! Black slashed my curtains with a knife, there was total chaos, Harry used some of the spells you taught us, and Black retreated! He got in with the passwords that Neville had written down!"

I stared at him and then looked at Harry, Hermione, and Ginny, who were nodding in confirmation. It was ludicrous, but nothing short of mortal danger could bring the entire House of Gryffindor to breakfast so early.

"Merlin's beard," I snarled and took the Marauder's Map from my pocket. "_I solemnly swear that I am up to no good_."

"We already tried that," Harry said. "Unfortunately we didn't think about it before it was too late. We searched our Maps, but we couldn't find where Black had gone."

"How long did it take you?" I asked angrily, deciding to teach them strict emergency protocols on our very next meeting and keep drilling them until they followed them subconsciously.

"Almost an hour. We were quite put out."

"The Forbidden Forest, he's most likely hiding there," I mumbled to myself. "Or he could've come through one of the passageways from Hogsmeade." My eyes focused on the one that began from the middle of the grounds, the one I had not been aware of during my first time at Hogwarts. "Or then…" There was also the Room of Requirement which was not shown on the Map.

The Great Hall had begun to fill up, and soon Dumbledore announced the news to the school and assured us that the danger was over and that the castle was more secure than ever. (I snorted. He had said the same after Hallowe'en.) He looked as tired as the Gryffindors, and much grimmer than usual. Snape's frustration was visible through his emotionless mask. And Lupin… was it guilt I could see in his eyes?

_Do you think it is a mere coincidence that Black managed to enter Hogwarts just two months after you appointed his good –_

This called for an investigation.

* * *

The investigation had to wait. My thrice-damned prefect duties increased tenfold when Percy declared over-enthusiastically that we had to do our part for the safety of the school. (He had clearly ignored Dumbledore's reassurances, but, in all honesty, I could not blame him. He did not have a Marauder's Map which would have proven his concerns unfounded.) And so I had to spend most of Sunday escorting younger students and patrolling the hallways with another prefect. (Company meant that I could not survey the Map without taking the risk of Dumbledore learning about it, and it would have reduced my odds of finding Black to practically zero if he had still been inside the castle.) At least I could do something useful: I cast a subtle spell on the doors of every secret passage that led outside and of the Room of Requirement. That way I would at least know if they were opened.

Slytherins had suddenly become very anxious to learn combat spells, and the Slytherin Duelling Club turned into a mass lesson for over a hundred people. As the position of student leader demanded, I helped them master some generally useful curses. It was almost curfew when I decided that I had done my part, and so I asked Ethan Jugson to take leadership, and finally left to gather information.

In the library there was a section where official Hogwarts documents were archived. I took a pile of them from the seventies to my favourite table and checked the Map as I had done whenever I had had the opportunity that day.

_Irma Pince_ was in the staff room; since the library was officially closed, she would not disturb me. _Argus Filch_ was in a hallway on the first floor, probably studying a minor crack on a wall. _Rubeus Hagrid_ and his dog were searching the grounds for footprints in the mud, and _Severus Snape _was also there doing his own investigations. _Remus Lupin_ was in his room, not taking part in the search in any way.

Most of the students were safely in their common rooms; just a few daring ones were still out on their own. _Percival Weasley_ had not given up for the day, and he was dragging two Gryffindor prefects along with him. _Cedric Diggory_ had escorted a group of fearful first-years to a bathroom. _Peter Pettigrew_ was walking alone on the fourth floor. Sirius Black was not at Hogwarts anymore, and everyone was overreacting. As if he would try another assault while everyone was vigilant.

It did not take me long to find in the documents the cause of Snape's concerns. Sirius Black had started his education at Hogwarts in 1971, the same year as Snape, and he had been Sorted to Gryffindor. Remus Lupin had been his dormmate for seven years. Yes, that was a very good reason to be suspicious of the Defence Professor's involvement with Black's successes in entering Hogwarts.

I continued to study the documents. It turned out that Black and Lupin had taken the same elective subjects at the start of their third year, and they had chosen the same subjects for their NEWTs. That seemed like something good friends would do.

The pieces of information I gathered from the documents formed an outline of their school years. Along with Lupin, Black had formed a small gang with James Potter, whom he had later betrayed to Voldemort, and Peter Pettigrew, whom he had blasted to pieces before being incarcerated.

_Peter Pettigrew?_ I had a strange feeling that the name was familiar to me from some other context…

I snatched the Marauder's Map with such a hurry that I almost got a paper cut in my finger. There he was: _Peter Pettigrew_, still wandering the hallways after curfew.

I rushed out of the library, leaving the documents on the table, and drew out my wand. Looking for directions from the Map, I quickly entered the hallway where the dead man was supposed to be, and pointed the beam of light from my wand to the far end.

There was no one there.

"_Homenum Revelio_," I whispered, and the spell came back positive. Pettigrew was there, but invisible. I glanced at the Map. The ink dot was standing still.

I stood for a moment, then turned around and left the hallway, pretending to have lost interest. Once out of the invisible dead man's sight, I cast the Disillusionment Charm on myself, the Silencing Charm on my shoes, and the Supersensory Charm on my senses. Armed with them, I returned to the hallway where Pettigrew was.

I heard a faint rustle. It was dark, and I could no longer illuminate the hallway, but my eyesight was much better with the Supersensory Charm on.

The rustle moved behind me. I turned as fast as I could and saw the movement of a small rodent. Realization hit me. _Pettigrew is an Animagus!_

Discarding all subtlety, I threw a Stunning Charm at the rodent, but it missed, and the tiny creature sprinted away, crying shrilly as it went. I raced after it, hurtling charms as fast as I could. As they all missed, I resorted to area-effect curses. Soon Pettigrew ran out of luck, and one of the blasts flung him against the wall.

"_Impedimenta!_"

The jinx rendered him immobile. Fearing that the noise was about to bring someone any minute, I grabbed the Animagus and ran away, heading to the Room of Requirement. After pacing in front of the wall impatiently I wrenched the door open and saw the prison I had envisioned. I locked Pettigrew in a cage and forced him to reveal his true form.

He was a filthy, puny man who appeared to have lost much weight. Even his human form had some rat-like features, reminiscent of how the Ministry witch at the Malfoy Yule Ball had looked like a toad. But what was much more interesting was the weak magical resonance I could feel around him. A diagnostic charm revealed the truth: he was surrounded by the Cat Repelling Charm of my own making, and I had only cast it once.

"Mr Scabbers, I presume?" I said. "Or is it Pettigrew now that you're back in a human form? Would you care to explain how you've managed to evade death?"

"I-I-I," Pettigrew stammered with his eyes darting back and forth. "You… I… dunno…"

I stared into his eyes, invading his mind with Legilimency. Pettigrew yelped and made an attempt to resist me. He had once been quite an accomplished Occlumens, but his protections were rusty. I could have torn them to pieces, but I decided against it. The small glimpse I had seen of his mind had revealed cracks and distortions. It was never wise to venture into a mind even slightly insane; there were stories of Legilimens who never found their way back.

"I can summon my house-elf and ask him to bring me Veritaserum," I offered with a wicked smile. "I've brewed it myself, but I've never had anyone to test if it works properly."

"No!" Pettigrew cried. "I'll tell you! I'll tell you everything!"

"How are you still alive?"

"I was never dead! I survived Sirius's attempt to kill me. I just wanted to live in peace, and I realized it was far easier as a rat. Please, let me go! Have mercy on a poor man who never…"

"Stop whining! You're not going anywhere before I've got answers to all my questions." I jabbed my wand threateningly towards him.

"But… but… a-all right, ask away then…"

"Let me tell you what I do know," I said. "I know you were a school time friend of Sirius Black, James Potter, and Remus Lupin. You became a member of the Order of the Phoenix. Black was the Secret Keeper of the Potters, but he betrayed them to Voldemort. He then confronted you and, as far as everyone knew, killed you. He was sent to Azkaban, but he broke free last summer. Now tell me: how are you here as a rat?"

"Well, as you know, I'm an Animagus, and I've just…"

"Start from the beginning! I want to hear this in order!"

"Yes, I was Sirius's friend. We and James too became Animagi when we were at school…"

"And Lupin?"

"Oh, he didn't. He's a werewolf, and we actually decided to become Animagi to keep him company during full moons…"

No matter how many times I had thought I had witnessed the full extent of Dumbledore's madness, even more absurd evidence popped up. A _werewolf_ as the _Defence Professor?_ Even though it was hard to believe even from Dumbledore, I did not question it. Suddenly Lupin's uncommonly regular sick leaves made sense.

"… as a rat Animagus I was ideal to work as a spy," Pettigrew continued his story. "I learned someone was passing on information from the Order to the Death Eaters. I suspected it was Snape. Then I heard that James and Lily had decided to hide under the Fidelius Charm, and that Sirius was their Secret Keeper. I was spying when I heard some Death Eaters speaking about You-Know-Who learning where James and Lily lived. I tried to warn them, but it was too late!"

"What do you know about Snape's allegiance?"

"Well, Dumbledore presented him to us as a double agent. Obviously he gave some information to You-Know-Who, but I don't know how much he did it without consent from Dumbledore. The man is a Dark wizard if there ever was one! All his school friends became Death Eaters."

"That's about what I thought. Continue your story."

"After Sirius had betrayed James and Lily he hunted me down!" Pettigrew squealed. "He confronted me in broad daylight in the middle of a Muggle city and threw the most powerful Blasting Curse I've ever seen. I barely managed to turn into my Animagus form and run to the relative safety of the sewers. I couldn't evade the blast entirely, and I lost one of my fingers. Luckily, the Aurors arrived in seconds and arrested Sirius."

"But why've you been hiding all these years? Why did you go on living as a rat even after the danger was over?"

"It's not over! At first I dared to hope. I spent several days in the sewers, heartbroken and distraught. Sirius was sent to Azkaban, and then I began to think the nightmare was over. I was just going to inform the Ministry that I had survived when I heard about the Death Eaters attacking the Longbottoms. That was when I realized I would never be safe. You-Know-Who was gone and most of his Death Eaters had been imprisoned, but there are still many of them on the loose. Malfoy and his goons, the Notts, Avery, Macnair, Jugson, the Carrow siblings, Snape… they know I was a spy for the Order. If they knew I'm alive, they'd try to kill me so that I could never reveal any new information about their atrocities."

"So you found your way to the Weasleys. Is there any particular reason why you chose them?"

"Well, um, how to put this? Their home is not a manor, clean and dignified, which makes it a much better place for a rat."

I snorted with laughter.

"It was easy to blend in and become a member of the family as a harmless, tame rat. Most of the time I've been here, as you know, as Bill's pet, then Percy's, and now Ron's. That way I've been able to keep an eye on Snape."

"Well, what have you learned?"

"Not much. Dumbledore appears to trust him although I can't imagine why. That's one good reason not to trust Dumbledore's judgment. He's naive, you know. His actions during the war… well, sometimes I wondered if he wanted more people to die. He didn't do much at all to end the war, even though he'd been able to defeat Grindelwald. We, members of the Order of the Phoenix, we whispered among ourselves wondering how defeating You-Know-Who could've been so much more difficult that he didn't even try it."

Pettigrew grimaced and shook his head in totally justified indignation.

"The old goat hasn't cared about the Greater Good ever since Grindelwald used the phrase to justify his conquest," I hissed. "He believes that not committing the murder of a serial killer makes him virtuous regardless of how many people die because of it."

"Yes, yes!" Pettigrew exclaimed. "I see you are an intelligent young man. Please, let me go."

"Hogwarts is not as safe as it used to be. Sirius Black has already managed to assault Gryffindor Tower."

"Yes, I know. I was there when he attacked yesterday. I quickly turned into my human form when he slashed with his knife, borrowed Ron's wand and began to fire Stunners. Ron screamed so loud that the entire House woke up, but Sirius just continued his attack. He approached me… uh, no… now that I think about it, he obviously tried to get to Harry; his bed was behind me after all. Anyway, I panicked and turned back into a rat and fled the dormitory. The boys had also begun to fire Stunners, and Sirius realized that he had to escape as fast as possible. I saved Harry's life last night."

"And for that I am grateful," I said. "Believe me, I trust you. Your story makes perfect sense."

Pettigrew's eyes widened and he let out a whimper of relieved laughter. What, had he expected me not to believe him?

"I offer you a sanctuary," I continued while opening the cage. "I live in Diagon Alley, and I invite you to stay there at least while I'm here. There's no one else there except my house-elf who can take care of your needs. In the summer we can plan other arrangements for you."

"Oh, well… that's nice of you," Pettigrew said. "I can't say I'm feeling safe at Hogwarts anymore. Uh… Sirius probably wants to kill me just as much as he wants to kill Harry."

"Do you have any idea of how he might've entered without the Dementors noticing?"

"The Shrieking Shack," he said at once. "That's where we met with Remus in our Animagus forms. There's a secret passage that leads to the school grounds. The Whomping Willow is planted on top of the other end."

"I see. The Shrieking Shack was built after – I mean, I know it was not there in the forties. Is the secret passage new as well?"

"Yes, Dumbledore had them both built specifically for Remus to be alone during his transformations."

"Dumbledore knows about the passage?" I almost shouted. "But he hasn't advised the Ministry to place Dementors around the Shrieking Shack?"

"Dumbledore also knows that Sirius knows about the passage," Pettigrew stated. "Sirius told Snape to go through it when Remus was transformed. Sirius was almost expelled because of it."

I rubbed my forehead in frustration, exasperation, disbelief, and many other emotions capable of causing a headache. It was as if Dumbledore had intentionally left a route open for Black to enter Hogwarts grounds undetected.

"Oh, by the way, can I ask something in turn?" Pettigrew said. "As a rat I've been hearing many conversations that weren't meant for my ears, and I happen to know much about you, Tom Valedro. There's one thing I've been wondering. At the end of last Hogwarts year, Ron and Harry talked much about a certain Tom Riddle until sometime during the summer they suddenly…"

"_Stupefy_."

Pettigrew collapsed on the floor. I sighed. It had been a long day, and I still had to go through yet another session of Obliviations and False Memory Charms. It was even more strenuous than the ones with Harry and the others, because I did not dare to use Legilimency to make it easier to find all the relevant memories.

* * *

Published on the 30th of January, 2020.


	21. Field Trip

Chapter 21

FIELD TRIP

"Tom? I don't think your Cat Repelling Charm is working very well," Ron said grumpily. "I haven't seen Scabbers all week. I think Hermione's cat has finally eaten him."

"Don't you dare accuse Crookshanks!" Hermione objected. "You've no proof!"

"Oh, I don't? I've still got marks on my scalp from that one time the bloody cat scraped me while trying to get Scabbers!"

"Your rat is not at Hogwarts anymore," I intervened before Hermione replied in anger. "I'm afraid I can't tell you the whole truth, but I assure you, he's in good health."

"Huh? What's this secrecy about Scabbers? I think I've got the right to know!"

"I found out that Scabbers was fatally ill and took him to London for proper treatment," I lied. "I didn't want to give you hope in case he couldn't be saved. Fully healed Scabbers would've been a merry surprise for you."

"You just said he was in good health!"

"Well, good compared to the alternative. He's already much better than he was before." (That was not a lie. Peter Pettigrew had already regained some of his lost weight after Dobby had pampered him with food and restorative potions.)

"I didn't know you were so concerned about Scabbers," Harry said, frowning.

"He is, after all, the test subject of my Cat Repelling Charm. The spell has worked for a few months now, and I don't want to start all over again with a new rat. Once you craft some spells of your own, you will understand." I smiled and nodded in a way that I hoped to be older-brotherly.

The children left me alone after a while, but I could tell that Ron was going pester me again about his pet. At least I had not needed to use any mind affecting spells to control them. My Slytherin perfectionism considered mind spells cheating in social interactions. A real Slytherin should be able to navigate past all social reefs without needing to soften the wits of others. If I could not outsmart school children, how could I ever outsmart the likes of Dumbledore who could not be Confunded?

* * *

Dobby Side-Along-Apparated me to my house in Diagon Alley with a crashing noise. Peter Pettigrew fell from his chair with a pathetic yelp and spilled his milkshake all over himself.

"_Confundo. Obliviate_," I cast as I did every time. Pettigrew did not deserve to be aware of my way through the Hogwarts wards.

"You'll be happy to know that your master is concerned about your whereabouts," I told him once he had returned to his senses.

"M-my m-master?" he stuttered with his eyes wide. "I-I dunno what you're talking about…"

"Ronald Weasley," I snarled. "Already forgotten him?"

"Ah, Ron!" he exclaimed in relief. "No, no… I was just… uh, so foolish of me!"

Sometimes I could not shake the feeling that Pettigrew was hiding something. Or then my Obliviations, Memory Modifying Charms, and Confundus Charms had somehow further damaged his already ailing mind. One could never be certain about those with mental disorders. Perhaps mind spells affected them differently. Interrogating him with Veritaserum would have to wait at least until I had no more use for him.

"I've been studying to become an Animagus," I said. "My progress has been slow, because I've had so much else to do. There are still many things I've not caught on. You will help me overcome these final obstacles."

"Anything, I'll be happy to help," Pettigrew said, trying to sound sweet.

He turned out to be a horrible teacher. Some things he had to explain ten times before I understood what he was trying to say. My paranoid side suggested into consideration that he knew I would become a less hospitable host once I had got what I wanted from him, and that he deliberately taught me poorly. It was also possible that living as a rat had changed his brains over time. Since hexing him would probably not have worked, I gritted my teeth and tried to temper my frustration. When I finally returned to Hogwarts, I was not an Animagus yet, and Pettigrew had strict orders to organize his thoughts and prepare meticulously for our next session.

* * *

The 1st of April, 1994, was Good Friday.

There was going to be a performance of _St Matthew Passion_ by Johann Sebastian Bach in St Paul's Cathedral that evening, and I was to attend. It would be the final victory over his past by the poor orphan who had wandered the streets of London and enviously looked at those who had the fortune of being immersed in high culture. At present I was rich, I was a wizard, and I was respected by most of those who knew me, feared by those whose interests crossed mine, and even liked by some people. I had triumphed over poverty, hunger, and hopelessness. I had almost triumphed over apathy, bitterness, and other enemies originating in my own soul. I was about to triumph over death, just like Christ whose Passion I was about to witness through music.

But first I would have to go through my own Passion.

Research about my family had led me to the village of Little Hangleton in Yorkshire. I had stood for a long time in the graveyard, looking at the imposing tombstone that marked the last resting place of one Tom Riddle. He, like his parents, had died in the summer of 1943, just a few weeks after I had been trapped in the diary, and the cause of death had been a total mystery to the Muggles. The doctors who had performed the autopsy had stumbled upon a riddle, the final piece to complete the puzzle. I knew that the riddle was magic wielded by another Tom Riddle… but that Tom Riddle was not me. He was the shadow of me.

I wondered what had happened that day. Voldemort had come to this place in search for knowledge about his origins. He had found the man after whom we had been named and killed him in cold blood. Why? Was it something he had learned about our father? I had felt great resentment towards the man who had apparently abandoned my mother before my birth, but I had not planned or even fantasized about murdering him as revenge. The past could not be corrected.

The house of the Riddles was a handsome one; my paternal family had been rich. Was that the reason the pure-blood heiress of Salazar Slytherin from the impoverished family of Gaunt had stooped so low that she had married Tom Riddle the Muggle? Wealth in exchange for abandoning the honour of a pure-blood family? It had been quite common in the Muggle world when the social hierarchy of the three estates had broken down and many noble but poor families had formed matrimonial bonds with wealthier bourgeois families. Well, I preferred my existence over the honour of one family, so I was not going to complain.

However, Voldemort could have inherited the house and the lands if he had just made peace with our paternal family. It would have freed him from the orphanage for at least a few weeks. But instead he had killed them. Had something gone awfully wrong in the family reunion, or was the massacre the first sign of his short-sighted madness the creation of a Horcrux had caused? I would probably never know.

The humid climate of England had been rough to the house of my ancestors; it was probably mouldy and in the need of total renovation. The gardener who lived in a humble cottage took care of the garden, but the house was left to decay. Its gloomy silhouette looked over the village like some kind of monument to Voldemort's early steps on the bleak road to darkness.

I had learned that a wealthy Muggle man had purchased the house, but had never lived in it. As I walked in the musty hallways, I thought about purchasing the house myself. I could restore the house to greatness and take my rightful place as the nobleman of those parts. It would be transformed into a magical court of the most powerful wizard of Britain and the entire world.

But that would have to wait. Both Dumbledore and Voldemort might pay attention to me being interested in the house where the latter's paternal family had lived. They needed to be dealt with before I could abandon the false identity of Tom Valedro.

The villagers of Little Hangleton were simple folk who would probably have considered the appearance of a stranger the sensation of the year. Careful not to leave any memories of my visit, I moved under the Disillusionment Charm and gathered information from the villagers with Legilimency. There had long been a local legend about the freaky family of Gaunt who had lived outside the village, but only the oldest villagers remembered any of the visits of "the Gaunt troll." When scanning the memories of an old man, I saw vague and blurry images of a raging drunken man with a huge, unkempt beard. The old man was quite sure it was the last time "the Gaunt troll" had visited the pub in the village, and it had happened sometime in the mid or late twenties. Then the fearsome brute had mysteriously disappeared, but some villagers had claimed to have seen him as late as in the early forties, downcast and muttering to himself. After that the Gaunts had only appeared in the local folklore.

So, that had been my maternal family of pure-blood wizards. Comparing these stories of the Gaunt family to the elegance of the Riddle house might make even the Malfoys doubt the pure-blood supremacist dogmas.

When I tried to find information on where exactly the Gaunts had lived, I did not find any memories at all. I considered it a good thing, because it might have been caused by Voldemort using the Memory Charm, and he would not have used it without a reason. And so I mounted my Firebolt and went to fly over the forested valley next to the village. I had the Supersensory Charm on and I used the Revealing Charm on anything even slightly suspicious. I was beginning to get excited. There might be another Horcrux nearby!

I had visited the Ministry and rummaged the records about wizarding residences. Just like in the memories of the villagers, there was no mention about where the Gaunt family had lived; Voldemort had most likely removed also all documents about it. However, I had not been discouraged that easily. An old book about magical genealogy had given me quite exact information, pointing to the right direction.

Unfortunately, "quite exact information" by wizarding standards was not good enough. It served the purposes of investigating breaches in the Statute of Secrecy and of managing the Floo Network, not the purpose of finding old ruins from an overgrown thicket.

But there was another method of finding such places, a method Voldemort had certainly overlooked. I had visited Ordnance Survey, the British national mapping agency, and studied many Muggle maps of the Hangleton region from different eras. All maps from before the Second World War included a small square symbolizing a house in the middle of the forest. However, it had mysteriously disappeared after the terrain had been surveyed after the war. It could be just a coincidence, perhaps the house had just burned down and nature had reclaimed the site, but I suspected magical concealment.

There was a small road next to the location; or rather a path, because it was too narrow for a car. I halted above the path and began to determine my exact location from landmarks. After a few minutes I was sure I was flying right above the place where the small house should be according to the old maps.

But there was absolutely nothing interesting to be seen. Trees, bushes, rocks, fallen branches… the place looked exactly the same as the forest surrounding it. There was not any moss-covered foundations of a house, no remains of a path diverging from the larger path… nothing. The Revealing Charm had no effect, nor did any diagnostic spells.

In case I had made a mistake in determining the location, I mounted the Firebolt again and surveyed the surrounding area. After fifteen minutes I had returned to the same spot.

I was offered a challenge! Determined to get to the bottom of the mystery, I closed my eyes and allowed my thoughts to wander. If the house or its ruins were magically hidden by Voldemort, how could a much less skilled wizard find any proof about it?

I had a clever idea. I walked to the path and faced the site that did not appear to be there. I waved my wand and conjured a small ball of light that stayed fixed in the air. Then I took thirty steps forward, conjured another ball of light, and turned to the right. The second ball of light was right next to me, the first one thirty steps to the right. I took thirty steps forward again, conjured the third ball of light, turned again to the right, and with thirty steps returned to the path. Once there, I conjured the fourth ball of light. They now marked a square in the middle of the forest, marking the alleged borders of the unseen site.

Next I positioned myself in the midway between the first and fourth balls of light and faced the forest. I took thirty steps forward, not looking left or right, crossing the distance without experiencing anything noteworthy. Once I stopped, I thought about the obvious hypothesis: I was standing in the midway between the second and third balls of light.

I turned to look. They were not straight to the left and the right from me, but behind me. Somehow, the thirty steps I had taken had moved me much further away from the path than they should have. Feeling excited, I faced the path again, and locked my eyes on the first ball of light as I took thirty steps. At one point the ball seemed to jump closer to me than it made sense.

That was the place after all. Voldemort had somehow folded reality around the house so that when I had approached it, I had somehow moved to the other side of it without noticing anything. The house was practically impossible to find without knowing it was there. Such concealment had to have a very good reason.

I mounted the Firebolt, rose above the trees, and pointed my wand towards the magical anomaly.

"_Finite Incantatem_," I said.

The General Counter-Spell shot from the tip of my wand, but then disappeared. I tried again and again, but apparently Voldemort's magical craftsmanship could not be simply dispelled, not that I had expected such an easy trick to work. It would have been beyond depressing.

This called for much expertise in Curse-Breaking. It was one of the most challenging professions in the wizarding world, equal to Aurors. Those Curse-Breakers who would be able to safely dismantle something which Voldemort had crafted were probably a hundred years old. Hiring help from such a person was out of the question. They would want answers, and if they found a Horcrux from the house Voldemort's ancestors had lived in, they would not give it to me. I would have to succeed on my own.

I had learned some Curse-Breaking techniques from the Kwikspell teachers, especially after I had found the Diadem, but most rudimentary skills were useless against Voldemort. But there was one advantage in the present situation. Usually Curse-Breakers had to work in small, confined spaces like catacombs and dungeons. They had to be careful when snipping the threads of curses and other magical protections, because any mistake might make the curse go off and incinerate everyone in the proximity. However, I had all the space in the world.

The most basic Curse-Breaking technique was the Blunt Triggering Spell, and it was as crude and undignified as a spell could possibly be. Using it in a catacomb would be a certain suicide. Curse-Breaking was in many ways similar to the Muggle profession of bomb disposal. The Blunt Triggering Spell was like disposing a bomb by detonating another bomb next to it: you would get rid of the bomb, yes, but by causing an even bigger explosion than the one you were afraid of in the first place.

I circled the hidden house in the air and used my Triggered Firing Charm to later shoot the Blunt Triggering Spells towards it. It was very tiresome, because the Blunt Triggering Spell required so much brute force. After casting twelve of them I felt my magic starting to ache like muscles after hard gymnastics. Then I flew away, until I was over a mile from the site. It was time for the show to begin.

The noise was like thunder, and the multi-coloured flashes of light were like the fireworks Fred and George had tossed around in the Room of Requirement as a distraction. One by one I launched the Blunt Triggering Spells, and each time a new burst of light and sound erupted from the middle of the forest.

Once it was over I returned to the site and extinguished all fires that had broken out. The house was still nowhere to be seen, but such a barrage of the Blunt Triggering Spells was sure to have made at least some impact. I tried a diagnostic charm, and it actually found some magic in the vicinity, although it could not tell in what form.

Breaking the concealment with the Blunt Triggering Spells might take all the magical power I had, but as there were some cracks for the diagnostic charm to notice something, I could continue using physical force. It was a method used commonly in the Middle Ages: wizard warlords had first weakened the magical defences of their enemies, and then their Muggle troops had finished the job using catapults and ballistae.

I chose one of the rocks on the ground for the purpose, one which was too heavy for me to move.

"_Wingardium Leviosa_," I cast and the rock rose into the air. I directed the Firebolt upwards and began a long ascend, letting the broom do the hard work of lifting the rock. I had to cast the Warming Charm on my cloak on the way to the cold and windy altitude of two miles. Once there, I could see the entirety of the Hangleton region spreading out all around me; I could even see the North Sea and Scarborough, the closest large town, to the east. Then I let the rock fall, but added still more force to the impact.

"_Amplio Gravitas!_" I yelled the incantation of the Gravity Amplifying Charm. It made my magic cry from exertion, but the rock plunged downwards with unbelievable speed as gravity suddenly affected it ten times stronger.

I nudged the rock a few times with my magic to make sure it fell on the right spot. The fall only lasted a few seconds, and then an almighty explosion flashed, only much later was heard in the heights. Fire erupted, lightning struck, the horrible form of an incandescent dragon raged… all of the remaining protections seemed to be dismantled in an instant.

When I reached the level of treetops, the forest around the site was on fire again. I had water poured all over the place and then stopped to marvel at the destruction I had caused. The remains of the house (or shack, rather) were now visible, but the falling rock and the breaking protections had blown everything up. My diagnostic charms assured me that the area around the ruin was safe, but the inside was still pulsing with magic.

After having had a bottleful of restorative potion I cleared the shack of curses with a few Blunt Triggering Spells. Then I conjured a shovel and charmed it to dig a hole in the middle of the ruin; a diagnostic charm told me there was something buried there. I flew impatiently in a circle above the ruin until the shovel unearthed a small gilded wooden box. Very, very carefully I opened it with a flick of my wand and peeked inside with a magical spyglass, barely daring to breathe.

There was a crude golden ring inside, and a black stone attached to it. A diagnostic charm told me that it, unlike the Diadem, was cursed with a deadly curse. After a few more probes I was convinced the ring held another soul fragment of Tom Riddle; the magical imprint was unmistakable.

Flying high in the air, I tried to break the curse with the Blunt Triggering Spell two times, but to no avail. It had to be such a sophisticated work of malice that it could withstand attempts to break it without putting the ring on a finger. Well, luckily for me, I was not the only person with fingers.

"Dobby," I called after descending to the ground.

_Crack_.

"Yes, Master Tom, sir!"

"I have an order for you," I said and the elf nodded enthusiastically. "Follow the order only after I say "now". Here's some cloth for you – no, it's not a piece of clothing! I need you to wrap it around that ring, but carefully. Make sure your skin does not touch the ring."

"Dobby understands, Master Tom, sir," the elf said, looking into the box with slight unease.

I mounted the Firebolt again and rose to a safe distance.

"Now!" I called.

Dobby followed my order, and nothing happened. My elf was safe and sound, but soon someone else would not be.

* * *

I could have chosen anyone to suffer the curse, but something, perhaps the slight compassion towards other people that I had learned from Ginny, made me choose carefully. And so it was a prison near London where I chose to go. I checked the memories of the prisoners with Legilimency, and that was how I found a psychopathic brute who had sold drugs to teenagers, beaten up more people than he could count, broken in to over twenty homes, blackmailed some other criminals, and finally murdered a police officer. He was just the right person for my purpose. He was alive only because the British Muggles were too soft and naive to cleanse their society of such scum with capital punishment. I would be doing a public service by being the executioner Muggles should have employed.

"_Imperio_," I said and threw a bundle of cloth onto the floor. "Count to ten, then open the bundle and put the ring on your finger."

I Apparated out of the prison. I paced for a minute which in my impatience seemed to last for an hour, waiting for the explosion that never happened. Then I hurried back inside and found a horrible sight in the cell.

Only the skeleton and charred remains of flesh were left of the murderer. The ring was on his finger, gleaming with malicious power. I could almost feel my fellow soul fragment enjoying himself.

"Innocents have been executed on Good Friday," I informed the skeleton. "You were not one of them."

A diagnostic charm told me that the deadly curse had lifted, but I did not let my guard down. I levitated the ring to the next cell and forced another murderer to wear it too. When I returned to the cell, he was still alive. The ring was now as harmless as a Horcrux could be.

I summoned Dobby again and told him to take the ring to my Gringotts vault, next to the Diadem. The day's excursion had been more successful than I had dared to hope.

Two found, three still to go.

* * *

Published on the 8th of February, 2020.


	22. Driven by the Curse

Chapter 22

DRIVEN BY THE CURSE

The Horcrux ring troubled me for many days after the finding. When I had planned the creation of my Horcrux network, I had given special thought to the items that would have the honour of being my anchors to immortality. Four items from the four Founders of Hogwarts had been obvious choices due to their connection to the place I considered my one and only home. The Locket, the Sword, the Diadem, and the Cup were all famous artefacts of which it had been easy to find information. I had added my diary to the list, not because it was remarkable (it was, after all, a Muggle product), but because the purpose from the very beginning had been to use it to open the Chamber of Secrets again. But what was the ring and why had Voldemort chosen it as one of his Horcruxes?

The simplest solution to the mystery was that the ring had been an heirloom of the Gaunt family and that Voldemort had stolen it from the last Gaunt the day he had visited our families. Hiding an heirloom in the ancestral home made sense.

What was important about this speculation was that the ring was probably the second Horcrux Voldemort had created. That meant it would be much safer for me to try to force the ring into submission than doing the same to the Diadem.

The soul fragment within was most likely a few months younger than I currently was, and it had not had the opportunity to prepare for the confrontation. However, after pondering the situation for many days, I still postponed the moment I dealt with the ring. The battle of souls might leave me exhausted, and if that happened during the school term, it would be noticed.

Instead I focused on the Animagus project. It had become a matter of self-respect to me: if a wizard as inept as Peter Pettigrew had managed to master the skill in his fifth Hogwarts year, I simply had to succeed before my sixth one ended. And so, following the incoherent teachings of the rat-man who lounged in my house slurping milkshake, I finally unlocked the animal within me.

As was fitting for the Heir of Slytherin, my Animagus form was that of a snake, but not just any snake. It was one of those rare magical creations which combined the deadly properties of both venomous and constriction snakes. (It also had eyelids.) I felt triumphant as I marvelled the senses that snakes had; turning back into a human was accompanied by a feeling of loss as many of the stimuli ceased reaching my mind. As a snake I felt myself strong and agile, but at first I could not move at all. Being so used to moving by using my legs, it took time to get used to moving by using my stomach.

Inspired by the senses of a snake, I began a new Spell-Crafting project: to modify the Supersensory Charm so that it did not only make all senses sharper, but that it also made humans capable of sensing such stimuli that they usually could not. The Disillusionment Charm (and, presumably, Invisibility Cloaks as well) hid not only the wavelengths of visible light, but also thermal radiation, and possibly all kinds of electromagnetic radiation; this I learned when experimenting as a snake. However, even invisible people warmed the air around them, and that could be seen with my new Infrared Seeing Charm. Unfortunately, using it in everyday life was quite disconcerting as it made bare skin glow with a strange colour. I could not describe the colour at all, because humans (with the exception of some Animagi) had never seen it. "It looks warm" and "Redder than red, you know, like red compared to orange" were not very illustrative descriptions.

To my relief, the Quidditch league ended, allowing everyone to concentrate on more important matters. Harry all but forced me to come to the pitch to watch the confrontation between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff teams. It seemed so important to him that I decided to comply with his request in order not to damage our friendship. Fortunately the weather was nice that day, but still the pointless, unexciting, dull, tensionless, lame, consequence-free, tiring, athletically idiotic mayhem stretched my patience almost to the breaking point. Gryffindor claimed victory, and was awarded the Quidditch Cup even though they had lost one of their games while the Slytherin team had won each one of theirs. Apparently the throwing of the Quaffle was not totally meaningless after all. However, for the first time I could feel some sympathy towards Marcus Flint whose prize was stolen from him. He had become a much more tolerable person after I had subjugated him, and I no longer held any grudge against him.

The good thing about the undeserved Gryffindor victory was that Harry finally managed to produce a corporeal Patronus: a stag glowing with silver radiance. Lupin told him that it was James Potter's Animagus form, and the Patronus began to glow even brighter. (I had once brought up some of the things Pettigrew had told me, and Lupin had admitted various school time adventures he had had with his friends; but not his lycanthropy, of course.)

"Brilliant work, Harry," I said. "Literally."

"It feels right," Harry breathed as the stag walked loftily around the classroom. "I see now why I couldn't do it earlier. It's not just the happy memory. It's more like a general positive attitude towards life…"

I felt a lump in my throat.

"Each Patronus is different," Lupin said, smiling broadly. "You can't just follow the instructions given to you. Every wizard must find the Patronus from within in his own way." He turned to look at me. "And that's why you should never give up trying. Perhaps you can find something really important to you that can help, like winning the Quidditch Cup is to Harry."

So, that was my problem? I never really rejoiced even my triumphs. After every goal I reached, the next one was within sight, and I just carried on.

The rest of the term seemed to pass in a blur as I tried to finish my various projects that required me to be at Hogwarts. One of them was convincing the seventh-year Slytherin students of my leadership. I asked Ethan Jugson to arrange a meeting with those Slytherins who had graduated during the last few years. I had decided that they would have the honour of being the first backbone of my future powerbase. Otherwise they would probably gather around Voldemort once he returned from hiding.

Before I noticed, it was the 29th of May, the first anniversary of my return to life. (Well, it was unclear whether or not it had happened before or after midnight.) I invited Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny for a small celebration in the Room of Requirement which took the form of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. It was a pleasant evening of reminiscing the past year and all that we had experienced and learned. I played the violin, Harry showed his Patronus, Hermione demonstrated some clever things she had learned in Arithmancy, and Ron cast the Shield Charm he had perfected quickly after Sirius Black's attack had given him the motivation to learn. Ginny did not demonstrate anything as directly, but she was not awkwardly silent in Harry's presence anymore, which was considerable progress.

As my sixth year at Hogwarts was nearing end, I had many reasons to be satisfied with what I had accomplished. But there was one huge annoyance that deserved to be dealt with.

The potion I was brewing suddenly boiled over and then turned into a gluey blob.

"Pathetic, Valedro," Snape drawled without being able to suppress his malevolent smirk completely. "I'm beginning to suspect you bribed the Wizarding Examinations Authority to give you an Outstanding grade. Your performance in my classes has been less than satisfactory."

I was so used to him ruining my potions out of spite that I had planned my answer in advance.

"Well, certainly something has changed since my departure from New Zealand," I said with fake seriousness. "But I did remember to stir the potion as I'm supposed to in the Northern Hemisphere. I can't rule out the possibility that my suddenly poor performance has less to do with me and more with the school I'm studying at. Geez, I thought Hogwarts was the best school in the world!"

Snape's eye twitched. I was careful enough not to blame him directly, and it infuriated him greatly.

At first Snape's childish tricks had just amused me. I was going to get an Outstanding grade in my Potions NEWT regardless of how many of my classroom assignments he tampered with wrong ingredients, and a grown man acting in such a ridiculous way was entertainment in itself. (Everyone in the NEWT level Potions class knew who was responsible for the failure of my potions, and all the other students sympathized with me strongly.) However, after suffering the same joke for months now, I had had enough.

It was time to visit the Chamber of Secrets and find out if it was possible to change the curse of the Defence professorship to apply to the Potions professorship. Lupin, werewolf or not, deserved to stay at Hogwarts much more than Snape.

* * *

"_Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts four!_"

The Basilisk woke up from its hibernation and came to greet its master.

"_I want to meddle with a curse that appears to affect this castle with invariable regularity. I am quite sure the physical anchor of the curse is in this Chamber. Do you know anything about it?_"

"_Your ancestor Salazar Slytherin did many things in here_," the Basilisk hissed. "_Most of them I know nothing about. I cannot wield a wizard's magic, and therefore it is mostly unknown to me_."

"_It is possible this curse is created by Salazar. However, it was my… brother who activated it. Did you advise him how to do it?_"

"_Your brother? It is difficult for me to tell you humans apart_."

"_He looks like me. Exactly like me_."

"_I do not know how you look like_," the Basilisk hissed in a way that I interpreted as amused. "_You have always told me to keep my eyes closed_."

"_Oh… well, he smells like me. Does that help?_"

"_Humans smell mostly the same… like prey. You brought here six male humans some time ago. Then there was the young female who often had strange smelling water on…_"

"_I mean the one who ordered you to look in the eyes of the girl up in the water room. Did he come back after that, before the girl with strange smelling water?_"

"_So, that one is your brother?_" The Basilisk licked the air, almost touching me with its tongue. "_Yes, now I recognize your smell. He did come back after I had been hibernating for a long time. He was angry, he spoke of revenge. I guided him to a magic stone left by Salazar._"

"_Take me to it as well_."

The Basilisk slithered out of the main hall, leading me to one of the many cavernous parts, similar to the one where I had found the anchor stone of the wards. The Basilisk stopped to smell a few times (I wondered if it could smell magic), until it pointed me to a dead end. A single stone was lying on the floor, unremarkable just like the anchor stone, but my diagnostic charm told me that Dark magic was constantly flowing through it.

"_Your brother was busy with it for a long time_," the Basilisk said. "_It did not concern me; I do not know what it was that he did with it._"

"_If the curse was originally created by Salazar, it is certainly meant to be used by an Heir_," I said and sat down next to the stone. "_Let me concentrate._"

I touched the stone with the tip of my wand and closed my eyes. There was nothing to be seen, almost nothing to be heard, there were few smells in that part of the Chamber… as I shut all other senses from my mind, there was room for the faint feeling of magic, the sixth sense. It was always difficult to grasp, but once I succeeded, it was rewarding. Magic was beautiful. It flowed like water, but there was also the unnatural harmony that felt quite similar to the art of playing the violin.

"_Perhaps it helped your brother that he was angry_," the Basilisk's voice whipped brusquely through my meditation. "_Wielding Dark magic requires the raw power of hostile emotions_."

"_You disturb me!_" I hissed. "_Get lost! Do you not have any snake business to attend to?_"

"_That is better_," it whispered in amusement. "_I will leave you and flex my muscles a little bit_."

"_Do not go out into the castle. The Heir of Slytherin is officially away, so you should be hibernating._"

"_As you will, master_."

With that, the Basilisk left me alone.

I delved into the curse again, trying to sense the malicious currents of magic that permeated the very foundations of Hogwarts castle. Slowly, very slowly I let the feeling of magic fill my mind. With my wand touching the anchor stone, I tried to connect my magic to the other one, becoming one with it and thus mastering it. But instead of the tranquil flow that I had experienced when experimenting with various normal magical items, I felt a chaotic vortex where conflicting powers clashed and tried to dominate one another.

It was beyond confusing, and I could only infer that Voldemort had not actually used the magic of Salazar's design, but somehow repurposed it to function as a curse that removed the Defence Professor once a year. Salazar had used so strange methods of Spell-Crafting that I could not tell what the original design of the curse had been. Perhaps he had not managed to finish it? A curse would have been a much better way of removing all Muggle-borns than the Basilisk was. Anyway, Voldemort had understood enough about the ancient design that he had managed to use it as the groundwork of his curse. But the amalgamation of at least two different spells was so unfathomable, so labyrinthine, that I quickly lost all hope of understanding it fully. I needed probably a decade's worth of more studies in Runes and Arithmancy.

But just like I had not needed to understand the Supersensory Charm fully in order to use its design to craft the Infrared Seeing Charm, understanding the mess of Salazar and Voldemort's work might not be necessary. I stopped analyzing it, just letting my sixth sense follow the current of magic. I felt leaving my body, travelling up into the castle. Then I strained my magic and tried to change the course of Voldemort's magic with intuition.

_I saw Professor Lupin, looking pale in his room as he looked out of the window. Clouds were sailing in the sky, the full moon was soon revealed._

I slammed my magic into the curse, trying to wrench it off course.

_Snape!_ I cried in my mind. _I want Snape! Strike him! Drive him away for good!_

_The vision of Lupin disappeared and was replaced with the ugly, large-nosed figure of Snape. He had a potion with him. _Good, a potion accident could happen to anyone.

_Now!_ I yelled and slammed my magic so that the curse dashed against Snape. He tripped and fell, the potion spilling. As I laughed, the sense of my own body returned, and suddenly I lost control of the curse. I was sitting on the cold floor of the cavern, laughter echoing from the walls. I hoped all kinds of misery to Snape.

Getting on my feet again was difficult; my legs had become numb while sitting. I felt so tired that I realized I had been there all evening and well into the night. Sometimes magic was so fascinating that I lost the track of time.

The Basilisk returned to the main Chamber when I wobbled to the door.

"_Were you successful, master?_"

"_I think so_," I replied. "_I felt something happening. You did not enter the castle, yes?_"

"_I obeyed you. I just explored the pipes_."

There was total silence in the hallways of Hogwarts as I stepped out of the bathroom. I was not sure whether or not the curse had activated right then or if I had just set a future occurrence in motion. It had been quite an exhausting affair so I was only interested in going to bed. I would wait until morning for any possible news.

* * *

I slept late the next morning due to spending half of the night awake. When I arrived in the Great Hall, there was an unusual amount of nervous conversation.

"What's going on?" I yawned. "Did someone spill potion on himself?"

"Professor Lupin has resigned," Draco said excitedly. "He's a werewolf, can you believe that? Dumbledore actually hired a werewolf to work with children!"

My attempt to take a swig of pumpkin juice stopped halfway.

"_What?_ Lupin… _he _resigned?"

I looked to the High Table. Lupin was absent, but Snape was present, grinning as smugly as I had ever seen him. Something had gone terribly wrong with my tampering of the curse.

"I can't say I'm surprised," Draco said, oblivious to my being totally distracted. "This was bound to happen, and since he's a werewolf, last night was the last opening this term. It was the night of full moon, the next one will be in July."

My second attempt to take a swig of pumpkin juice stopped halfway as well. I had a very bad feeling about the situation. Was it just a coincidence that I had tried to save Lupin from the curse the very night it had the opportunity to reveal his secret? Coincidences were much rarer in the wizarding world than in the Muggle world.

"If my father was still in the board of governors, Dumbledore would not get away with this," Draco continued, but I had much more important things to think about.

I had breakfast in haste and hurried out of the Great Hall. In the Entrance Hall I was immediately cornered by a very distressed Harry.

"Tom, the Chamber of Secrets is open again!"

"What?" I actually had trouble forming coherent thoughts.

"I heard the Basilisk again last night!" Harry shouted. "It was going through the pipes and speaking in Parseltongue! I went running to warn Dumbledore, but then I bumped right into Snape who was coming around a corner. He dropped the goblet he was carrying, and the potion was spilled to the floor."

I stared at him. I could envision his story a bit _too _accurately, because I had, in a way, seen it as a vision while causing it.

"He was starting to yell about expulsion, but I told him the monster was loose, and he suddenly turned happy. Then it turned out that Professor Lupin is a werewolf, and Snape's potion was supposed to make him less dangerous. Without the potion, Lupin became feral and started to run around the castle!"

Apparently, my attempt to delve into the curse had accidentally activated it and caused an unlikely chain of events that had ended with Lupin being forced to resign! In retrospect, that was what usually happened with magic when you tried to do something without proper knowledge. However, what was much more worrisome was that I had not just failed to control the curse. On the contrary, it had controlled me! Had my decision to shoo the Basilisk actually come from the curse, setting all of this in motion?

"Snape called the Aurors, the Aurors summoned the Dementors, there was a huge chaos, I saw the Grim again, Dumbledore Stupefied Lupin before the Aurors or the Dementors caught him, and then he banished the Dementors with his Patronus." Harry was almost breathless. "Now everyone thinks the monster in the Chamber of Secrets is a werewolf, and someone said that Lupin is the Heir of Slytherin! But more important is that the Basilisk is awake again! That means Voldemort is here at Hogwarts, again!"

"Calm yourself!" I said after having suddenly found my voice. "Surely the Basilisk moves by itself from time to time."

"Oh," Harry said, his agitation deflating. "Oh, I guess you're right…"

"I must speak to Lupin," I said, running up the marble staircase. "I hope he hasn't left yet."

We found Lupin in his room, packing his things with an air of finality. He smiled sadly as we entered.

"I put the entire school to danger last night," he said, disregarding Harry's pleas to stay. "There is a reason why werewolves are not wanted around children."

"It's my fault," Harry said miserably. "I knocked Snape over, making him spill the potion."

I shifted uncomfortably.

"Don't blame yourself, Harry," Lupin said. "As far as we know, you were just driven by the curse."

I shifted _very _uncomfortably.

"Actually, I consider myself lucky. The two previous holders of this office died, and I was close last night. In this situation I prefer resigning over being fired because of the uproar this will create among the parents. This way I can at least show that I've got integrity." Lupin sighed heavily. "It is difficult for a werewolf like me to find a job. Even more difficult if I didn't seem to be concerned about the safety of children."

"You've been the best Defence Professor I've had," Harry said. "Besides, you knew my parents. I've never had much contact with people like you. I hate to lose you."

Harry's words sealed my decision. Once again I remembered Salazar Slytherin's wise words: _Anything can be an opportunity_.

"Professor Lupin, many things indicate that we're heading towards darker times," I said. "This curse has caused a decline in the Defence Against the Dark Arts skills of British wizards. Losing you at this point of time is a serious loss to us. That's why I've got a proposition for you."

"A proposition?" Lupin asked, sounding mildly curious.

"You may not be able to continue teaching at Hogwarts, but not all learning happens within these walls. I'm willing to employ you as a private tutor for all who want further tuition. I've already invited Harry to stay in my house in Diagon Alley during the summer holidays. You can join us and share your expertise with him and his friends."

"Tom, that's a great idea!" Harry exclaimed.

"I would like it a lot," Lupin said, smiling broadly. "May I ask why you are willing to do this for me?"

"Why not?" I shrugged. "I can afford it, and anyway, when it comes to preparing for Voldemort's imminent return, I'm not cutting corners."

"I gladly accept your proposition," Lupin said. "I'm your professor no longer, so I ask you to call me Remus from now on."

"Here's my address," I said, offering him a piece of parchment. "Come to visit me on the first day of the holidays. There's a very special person I'm sure you're interested to meet. He will be there that day."

"Oh, exciting," Remus said. "You're already offering me a mystery. Am I supposed to make guesses?"

"This one may be hard to guess," I said. "But I assure you, you knew him well years ago."

"I'm looking forward to meeting him," Remus said. He had finished packing, and after shaking our hands he left, looking much merrier than when we had arrived. We watched from a window as he stepped out of the castle, boarded a carriage pulled by a Thestral, and left Hogwarts looking wistfully behind. So departed a very remarkable werewolf.

"Who is this mystery person?" Harry asked.

"If I said Scabbers, would you believe me?"

"No, I wouldn't!" Harry said and laughed.

"Ha, if you think I'd lie to you, I'm not telling you anything."

"All right, keep your secret. But thank you very much, Tom. You're doing a great favour for Remus and me, too. Funny how you managed to turn the misfortune of the curse this way."

"Yes, the curse," I mumbled. "I have to think about it seriously."

This debacle was a reminder that I should never underestimate Salazar Slytherin or Voldemort. Somehow their combined arts had bypassed all my Occlumency defences and turned me into a pawn. I decided never to let it happen again.

* * *

Published on the 18th of February, 2020.


	23. Departure

Chapter 23

DEPARTURE

My exam grades offered no surprises: there was the usual row of Outstandings, even in History, Astronomy, and Magical Creatures even though I had not attended any classes. It was Snape who gave each Slytherin their results on a parchment, and his expression was frighteningly bitter when he faced me.

"Outstanding in Potions," I pointed out merrily. "You have taught me well, Professor!"

He did not answer, probably because all he could think about at the moment were the incantations of illegal curses.

_Enjoy your stay while you can_, I thought. _I'll see you out one way or another._

Slytherins in general had done quite well in their exams, and many of them thanked me of the change to an academically more ambitious direction. The proud House of Salazar had found a new purpose in taking over Britain with subtlety, and it had become a new custom that older students helped the younger ones. Only with a unified House of skilled witches and wizards could we succeed in making me the ruler of Britain and, of course, in the less important things too.

After lunch I met with my Gryffindor friends who wanted to share their exam grades with me.

"Look here, Tom," Harry said and handed me his parchment. "I did pretty well in my exams, and I think it's you I have to thank for it."

Indeed, over the course of the year, I had met with Harry in the Room of Requirement over a hundred times. Only in the beginning we had focused solely on Battle Magic and fighting skills, and eventually the lessons had replaced Harry's independent study hours. Harry was a smarter boy than most, and he would have become a powerful wizard and successful in his career on his own, but his talents were nothing unusual. He lacked the natural affinity to magic that very special individuals like I, Dumbledore, and Grindelwald had, and thus he could not become a legend with just his magical skills.

And so, his just slightly better than average talents had been a cause of frustration to me. The obvious shortcut had been to use Legilimency on him and simply plant the understanding of magical theories, methods, and techniques in his mind, bypassing the phase were the teacher translated his thoughts into words and the student translated them back into thoughts. It was a superbly effective way of teaching, but it could be done to just one person at a time, and very few wizards were adept enough at Legilimency to be able to do so.

Harry himself did not know how exactly I had taught him, but he had been awed by the progress he had made under my tutelage. I took the parchment and smiled: Harry's performance in Charms and Transfiguration was absolutely brilliant, even Hermione had not performed as well. In fact, even my third year exam performance back in 1941 had not earned as many points, and (I had checked it immediately) I had reached the exact same points as Dumbledore in his third year.

"Nicely done, Harry," I said and grinned. Behind Harry, Ron and Hermione looked quite sour. "I'm happy you think I've been of help to you. We'll continue this arrangement. As you've noticed, Divination is quite useless. I suggest you drop it like Hermione did, and take Runes and Arithmancy instead. I'll help you with the third year coursework during the holidays."

"Yes, that's what I'd like to do. I want to be able to create my own magical items like the Marauder's Map."

"That's the spirit," I said, but made a mental note to myself: I needed to be careful not to make Harry _too _adept at magic. He had to remain dependent on my expertise and ingenuity.

* * *

When we Slytherins stepped into the Great Hall for the End-of-Term Feast, we were welcomed by the massive green flags with a silver snake. After two years of Gryffindor victories due to Harry's foolhardiness and Dumbledore's favouritism, Slytherin had again won the House Cup. Everyone in the Hall knew it was my influence that had tipped the scales in Slytherin's favour. Students of the other Houses clapped politely, and Snape looked visibly annoyed. I smirked at him, wanting to rub the fact to his face that we had won because I had taught the Slytherins not to follow his example.

"Well done, Slytherin," Dumbledore said happily. "I am happy to announce that the Ministry of Magic has decided to remove the Dementors from around Hogwarts. Clearly Minister Fudge realized the danger in dealing with such creatures when the Dementors were all too happy to attack anyone on the night Professor Lupin had the misfortune to become moonstruck. However, the Ministry is not going to leave us defenceless as long as Sirius Black is still out there. The Dementors will be replaced by dragons."

Many students gasped in shock, others were unable to utter even that much, and most seventh-year students were clearly happy to leave Hogwarts for good.

"The Minister seemed to consider the arrangement economical," Dumbledore continued, his eyes twinkling intensively. "I wonder if he thinks Hogwarts will have some other use for dragons besides guarding in the near future."

Hagrid was weeping openly and noisily.

"I'm dropping Magical Creatures," Draco muttered in dismay.

"For our graduating students I wish the best of luck for your future endeavours," Dumbledore said after the terrified muttering had died out. "You are now witches and wizards ready to hone your skills without supervision. For the younger students I wish a very relaxing summer. These are always things worth celebrating. Tuck in!"

The plates and bowls on the House Tables were filled with the best dishes the house elves were able to cook, and the End-of-Term Feast began.

Returning to the Slytherin common room for the last night at Hogwarts was a bit melancholic. With Dobby as my assistant, I had put much effort to imitating the same atmosphere in my bedroom and drawing room in my house in Diagon Alley, but there were things about Hogwarts that simply could not be replicated anywhere else. I would miss the castle.

The Marauder's Map showed me that Snape had retired to his quarters; he was not coming to speak to his House like Professor Slughorn had done. Good, one more opportunity for me to play the part of the leader of Slytherins. I began to speak _ex tempore_, because written speeches were easy to recognize as memorized, and I did not want the other Slytherins to realize that I had carefully planned my rise to power. It was better if they thought it all just happened organically.

"It seems our Head of House is not going to celebrate our victory with us, so I'd like to say a few words in his stead," I said and immediately got the attention of my housemates. "I wasn't very happy when I saw what Snape and Dumbledore had done to our House. As I explained in September, we had lost our way and become just a shadow of what we should be. However, these past months have proven that we had not forsaken our most important qualities: adaptability and flexibility. The day of our ascension is coming, and I thank you for your effort in making it possible. We will continue our journey after summer, here at Hogwarts, and beyond with our graduating members. Thank you, carry on with the celebration. I'd like to speak with our senior members about the future."

The Slytherins saluted and toasted.

Ethan Jugson had assembled all of the seventh-years near the fireplace. I stepped in the centre of their crowd and grinned briefly. They were all older than I was, but I still had authority over them. _Might makes right _was a rule in Slytherin, and I liked it.

Among them there were proud and respected pure-bloods like Ethan Jugson and Carrie Runcorn who were talented and diligent, but the majority of them were much like Marcus Flint. It was actually quite tragic how many of the less powerful Slytherin families were trapped in a life of meaninglessness. Every generation learned the family pride even though the reasons of the pride had vanished usually centuries ago. People like Flint came to Hogwarts, graduated, and then had almost nothing to do. They did not continue their magical studies; they had no motivation to serve the Ministry or to run a business. Usually it was Quidditch in which they sought their sense of purpose. When a Dark Lord rose, they quickly gathered around him, not because of whatever the Dark Lord justified his conquest with, but to get some excitement. Like me, they were ready to do what it took to flee the apathy.

Understanding this was important. I knew exactly how to turn their craving for purpose into devotion for me.

"Some of you are pursuing a career in the Ministry," I said. "But am I correct, many of you have no particular plans for your future?"

Many of them nodded.

"As Slytherins, you should use any time you have to advance your goals. Our confrontation with the Muggle world is inevitable, and you know what is at stake. I have a suggestion I hope some of you consider earnestly. It is not difficult to infiltrate the part of the Muggle society which controls the raw power of science and technology. I suggest you join the British Army. Familiarize yourselves with Muggle weaponry and tactics. Use magic here and there, but subtly, and you will earn promotions with ease. It will be your shortcut to important positions in the wizarding world later."

I had procured a batch of recruitment brochures and distributed them among the seventh-years. Over the course of the year, I had made sure they felt appropriate fear and interest towards Muggle weapons, and many of them leafed through the brochures with an open mind.

"For you," I whispered to Flint, "this is not a suggestion, but an order. Choose the artillery arm. Derrick and Bole will follow you in a year. Make me proud."

"Yes, my lord," Flint muttered and inclined his head. He was quite sure he had not failed in his NEWTs this second time; he had actually done quite well, because I had forced him to study diligently.

Ethan came closer and said,

"So, this is why you asked me to assemble the older Slytherins. You want to suggest this military thing for them too."

"Quite right. This is something the Dark Lord Dumbledore does not expect from us Slytherins."

"I'm actually quite intrigued myself. However, my internship in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes has already been arranged."

"Don't worry about it. Anyone can learn to use Muggle weapons, it's not just for those in the military. I learned it quickly enough. What's the most important thing in the military training is how to adapt to the chaotic situation of a battle."

* * *

It was a clear summer morning when we students boarded the carriages in front of the mighty doors. As I was accustomed to do, I spent a good while looking at the turrets, the towers, the greenhouses, the lake, the grounds, and the surrounding mountains, wanting to imprint them all to my retinas. Next to me, Harry was doing the same thing; it was our common end-of-term ceremony. Then I grinned, because this time I was not going back to the orphanage. The journey to Hogsmeade railway station and the train ride southward had been the depressing transition from the exciting world of magic and Scottish mountains to the dull world of Muggles, smog, dreariness, food shortages, and the fear of air raids – the world of apathy.

No more. This summer was going to be like the previous one, immersed in magic, learning, and fun things to do.

"Well, this time I'm not walking into the house of the old, tyrannical Dursleys," Harry said. "But what if Uncle Vernon has changed jobs?"

"You sell Grunnings and buy the company that has employed him," I said. "Let's hope that's what has happened. It would be so funny."

"All right, hurry up!" Percy shouted, clinging to his final hours as the Head Boy. Harry and I boarded our carriage, and all too soon we were out of the gate. The Dementors were gone, but since the dragons were not there yet, a team of Aurors had been dispatched to keep us safe from Sirius Black.

I could have Apparated to London and skipped the long train ride, but once again my prefect's duties demanded me to waste my time. Peregrine Derrick actually smirked at me when I passed him on my way to Percy, and I grimaced at him in mock fury.

In the prefects' carriage Percy and Penelope Clearwater gave us farewell speeches. I did not register much at all; instead I wondered if there was something about boring speeches in _Introduction to Public Management_. Percy had certainly learned a thing or two from it. He ended his speech with something that seemed quite ceremonial, and suddenly I realized he was probably trying to take his first steps on his campaign to the position of the Minister for Magic. After all, former prefects usually did well in public careers, and we could possibly be important supporters to him.

"I've heard from a reliable source that you will be the Head Boy next year," Percy told me after the other prefects had left the carriage. "Apparently, Professor Snape was the only Head of House who argued against it, but for some reason it did not sway the other professors in the slightest. Congratulations, it will be a great asset for you in the future."

It was downright hilarious that Percy thought I actually cared for such things as being the Head Boy. Of course, most Head Boys and Girls had become esteemed figures in wizarding Britain; Dumbledore, Bartemius Crouch, Amelia Bones, Abraxas and Lucius Malfoy – and yes, Voldemort too. I had checked the list of Head Boys back in September, and it had been odd to read my name on it. However, ever since rising so high above my peers, all formal positions of power among students had lost their glamour. Grindelwald's rogue path felt much more tempting and more glorious. The path to greatness was made easier for those who proved their responsibility at school; they did not need to forge their own path like Grindelwald had done.

After a very brief patrol I went to the compartment where Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were sitting. Hermione was still prattling about her exam performance. She seemed to be adept at coming up with excuses why Harry had beaten her in the two subjects that required the most skill and intellect.

"Clearly it wasn't such a good idea to take all the elective subjects. I was overworked for the entire year. I should've prioritized more…"

"How was the prefects' meeting?" Ron asked. He had to be desperate to change the topic if Percy's speech was his preferred issue.

"Dull. Your brother all but admitted he wants to become the Minister."

"That's no news."

"Hey, Hermione," Harry said suddenly. "Can you now tell us how you were able to attend all of the classes?"

"I promised Professor McGonagall that I wouldn't tell anyone," Hermione said.

"Oh, please," I said. "Are you trying to make us suspect something top secret? It can't be that hard to admit that you covered some classes with independent coursework. That's what I did before my first OWLs."

Hermione seemed to be debating with herself. I was just about to decide I would use Legilimency on her when she spoke again.

"Well, all right. It's actually no longer that important, because I can't continue doing it."

"Doing what?" Ron asked with some difficulty, because he had stuffed his mouth full of chocolate.

"When we arrived at Hogwarts, Professor McGonagall gave me a Time-Turner. It's a magical item that the Ministry's Department of Mysteries had created last summer and needed to test."

My mouth hung open.

"They wanted someone to test a prototype and decided to give one to a Hogwarts student known of responsibility," she continued proudly. "With it I was able to travel back in time for an hour at a time so that I was able to attend all classes."

"What happened to it?" I demanded.

"I had to give it back," she said. "Apparently the Department of Mysteries realized how dangerous such an item could be. I have to say that I agree. Twisting time can be… well, disconcerting. And no, it can't actually change the past. It just lets you relive an hour. And it can be used only six times a day."

I stared out of the window, angry with myself. If I had paid enough attention to Hermione's timetable, I would have figured out the mystery with Legilimency. Then I would have stolen the Time-Turner with minimal difficulty, and _then_… literally unlimited possibilities would have been waiting for me.

_Note to self: never overlook even the smallest and most mundane of mysteries._

But the Department of Mysteries was working with things like that? Time magic, something I had always thought existed only in the fairy tales about Atlantis! Did the Unspeakables have vast collections of relics that they used to rediscover forgotten magical knowledge of civilizations that were lost or, as some speculated about Atlantis, were made to have never existed?

One thing was certain. Once I graduated, I would pursue a job in the Department of Mysteries. Its secrets would be mine!

Perhaps it was for the best, after all, that I was going to be the Head Boy. The boring responsibilities would last only for a year, but then I would forever be remembered as one of the two most responsible students of my year. A rogue like Grindelwald would never be accepted into the Department of Mysteries. I would, and then I would gain power over _time!_ It was the second best thing after immortality. I would not even need to manipulate the lottery drawings anymore! Not to mention the foresight to the stock market! And all of the _delicious _alibis!

With such pleasant thoughts in my mind, the train ride did not feel as boring as usual.

* * *

After levitating the trunks of my young friends out of the Hogwarts Express to Platform Nine and Three Quarters, I asked to speak with Harry.

"Remember that Remus will come to meet me and – well, let's say Scabbers – tomorrow. I'm sure you would find the meeting interesting as well, so you're invited. I'll send Dobby to get you."

"Thank you, I'm happy to be anywhere but Privet Drive," Harry said.

"Otherwise we'll have the same arrangements as last summer. Dobby follows your orders and he can transport you between Privet Drive and Diagon Alley. For the month you need to be with the Dursleys to refresh the blood wards, you're welcome to use my house as a waypoint to the wizarding world. In July I'll have the guest room available for you. Of course, maybe you would like to visit the Weasleys too."

"Yes, Ron invited me. There's the Quidditch World Cup in August, and Mr Weasley probably gets tickets from work!"

"Sounds fun," I said dryly. "But one more thing. As you know, you're not supposed to use magic during the holidays, but there's an exception in the law used by many pure-blood families. Underage wizards are not to use magic _without supervision and the permission of their guardian_. However, it's completely legal to have a private teacher. We'll have to do a little bit of paperwork and get a form signed by your uncle, and then Remus and I will have the right to teach you magic outside of Hogwarts."

"Great!" Harry said. "Getting the signature won't be difficult. And I think we should tell about this to Hermione so she can join me. I don't want her to get mad at me because of my improved skills."

"We will do that," I promised. "See you tomorrow."

I waved my hand in farewell and then Disapparated, almost instantly arriving in the library of my home away from home.

* * *

Published on the 29th of February, 2020.


	24. Old Friends

Chapter 24

OLD FRIENDS

Historians were usually able to list numerous signs indicating coming upheavals like wars and revolutions even if they went unnoticed by the contemporaries. I had lived in the thirties and believed in peace for our time. But in 1994 I was confident that I was not missing the clear signs of the approaching storm. Voldemort had tried to steal the Philosopher's Stone, and Sirius Black had escaped Azkaban and attacked Hogwarts. They were not separate incidents, but signs which future historians would consider blatantly obvious omens of what was to come.

But during those days that should have been used to get prepared, the _Daily Prophet_ was full of the approaching Quidditch World Cup! Cornelius Fudge was offered spotlight as the host of that expensive spectacle, and nothing else seemed to interest him. He was exactly the kind of weak leader who would cause difficult times for his nation. Dumbledore should have tugged his reins, but being proactive was simply not his style.

Well, the coming turmoil would open many possibilities for an ambitious Slytherin. The devastation Fudge's ineptitude would cause was going to be my ascension.

* * *

I had been more than half expecting Peter Pettigrew to run away at some point before my return from Hogwarts. I had not been very kind to him except by offering him hospitality, and he certainly knew I would expect something from him in exchange. However, he was still there even after I told him that he was about to meet Remus Lupin and Harry Potter who would thus learn his secret. Perhaps the long years of easy life as a pet had spoiled him so that he simply could not have survived on his own. Of course, there was also the threat that I would alert the former Death Eaters and tell them about his survival; he probably regretted revealing his greatest fear to me.

"I-it's so g-good to meet R-remus again," he said, fidgeting his fingers and destroying one of my quills.

"Then why are you so nervous?"

"Um… ah… it's been so long."

"You know, you could've met him at any point at Hogwarts when you were both there for months."

Pettigrew decided not to react to my remark. He stared at the door, sweating slightly. His nervousness was way over scale because it was still an hour until Harry and Remus were to arrive. I let him languish in his discomfort, and continued reading the _Daily Prophet_.

When it was time for the arrival of Harry and Remus, I asked Pettigrew to turn into his rat form. He did so and retired to a corner of the room. Soon I heard the usual bang of Apparition from another room, followed by the voices of Harry and Dobby.

"Right on time," I said as Harry entered the room and greeted me. "Let's see how punctual Remus is."

I had barely managed to say the words when the doorbell rang. Dobby hurried to the front door, and returned after a while with Remus.

"Good day, Tom, Harry," the former Defence Professor said, looking around. "Isn't this Hogwarts style? I would've imagined you'd have wanted something to remind you of New Zealand."

"Actually, this is the style of my original home," I said with a deviously misleading honesty. "The Private Wizarding Academy of New Zealand was established by British witches and wizards who had studied at Hogwarts. They tried to imitate Hogwarts castle as faithfully as possible."

"You lived in the Academy building?"

"Sure, we all did. The community is not large, and it's simply practical that everyone lives in or in the vicinity of the Academy." I had not quite perfected my lies about New Zealand, which meant it was time for a change of topic. "Now that you're both here, we'd better meet with the person you came here for."

Harry and Remus gathered around a table, and I went to fetch the nervous Animagus from the corner.

"This is the person I invited you to meet," I said and placed Pettigrew the rat on the table.

"Scabbers?!" Harry exclaimed incredulously. "You said – you really meant Scabbers? _Why?!_"

"What kind of a joke is this?" Remus asked.

"That rat is Ron's pet!" Harry explained. "He fell ill, and Tom said he took him here for treatment."

"Tom, Tom, you appear to be quite a prankster," Remus said, unable to suppress his smile. "My childhood friends were just like you. Oh, how often they did something like this."

"They pranked you with a rat?" I asked. "I believe they did. Or at least one of them did. Turning into a rat like this was probably Peter Pettigrew's special expertise?"

Remus suddenly grabbed the front of his robe as if suffering from a heart attack.

"It can't be," he whispered, getting a confused look from Harry. "It can't be! Peter?!"

"Time to reveal your true form, Mr Pettigrew," I said.

The rat nodded and turned into a human in a blur. Harry yelped in surprise and Remus grabbed the back rest of a chair for support.

"R-remus, my friend," Pettigrew said and came down from the table. "And H-harry… nice to finally meet you like this."

"Um – who are you?" Harry asked.

"He is Peter Pettigrew," I said. "The fourth member of the gang formed also by your father, Remus, and Sirius Black. I told you about him last summer. He was believed to have been killed by Sirius Black the day after your parents were killed. But he survived. He can tell you the details."

Remus had recovered from his initial shock.

"So, Sirius didn't get you, after all? But tell me… why did you disappear like that? I lost four of my best friends in less than twelve hours. It was devastating. It would've given me some consolation if I had known that at least you were still alive."

"I'm so sorry, Remus," Pettigrew wailed. "I don't know what happened to me… I somehow snapped. It was madness to think I could stop Sirius, but I tried anyway. It took me days to recover from the shock… Lily and James dead, Sirius turning against me and blasting the Muggles, losing my finger and a great deal of blood. I just… I wanted to leave everything behind. My life was already ruined…"

Remus's hurt expression softened as Pettigrew sobbed about those horrible days when both their worlds had suddenly turned upside down, and I added Remus to my list of people who could be manipulated with sentimental means.

"I… I understand," Remus said sadly. "Many members of the Order secluded after the chaos of the war. I, too, thought about starting over somewhere else…"

The two adults mumbled about the horrors they had gone through, but then Harry's bright voice interrupted them.

"How did you find about Mr Pettigrew, Tom?"

"It was the night after Black attacked your dormitory. I simply noticed him on the Marauder's Map."

"The Map?" Remus cried suddenly. "Did you say the _Marauder's Map?_"

"How do you know about it?" I asked sharply.

"We created it… Peter, James, Sirius, and me. We called ourselves the Marauders."

"_Moony_," I mumbled, staring at the werewolf. "And _Wormtail_, of course."

"You've got the Map? How?"

"Fred and George gave it to me," Harry said. "They had stolen it from Mr Filch. I gave it to Tom, who duplicated it."

"Really? That's impressive. How did you do it?"

"Tell me first how you created the first one," I said, unwilling to reveal anything that had something to do with the Chamber of Secrets.

"It took us years, but eventually we found an anchor stone of the Hogwarts wards in the Forbidden Forest," Remus said. "We tried many things with it, and it was mostly luck that we tapped into the ward that tracks everyone. We didn't put any of our own magical strength into the Map, and I think it gets its power from the nexus of magic that's located somewhere beneath the castle."

"Yes, so I figured. It was probably the same anchor stone that I found."

"Was my father Padfoot or Prongs?" Harry asked.

"He was Prongs. The names came from the Animagus forms. Padfoot is Sirius… he transformed into a huge, black dog. Many times he scared younger students, pretending to be the Grim."

Harry paled suddenly.

"The Grim? You meant… that was Sirius Black? I saw the Grim two times during the school year!"

"Sirius was sneaking around the grounds almost the entire year," Pettigrew said. "I'm sure he came through the passageway from the Shrieking Shack."

"Of course!" Remus said, smacking his palm against his forehead. "After Hallowe'en the staff tried to figure out how he got past the Dementors. I know Severus suspected me of helping him. However, Dumbledore was quite sure he had used some unknown Dark magic. But the truth was that simple!"

"And now we're getting to the reason I asked you all to come here," I said. "Dumbledore's actions have made me wonder if he has some strange motivations. I'm not sure if you're aware of this, Remus, but there never were any Dementors guarding the Shrieking Shack even though Dumbledore knows full well there is a passageway to the grounds and that Black knows about it too. Don't you think he did not take the threat seriously enough?"

"Ah, well – I, too, forgot about the passageway, as did Severus, it seems."

"I could overlook one or two such incidents, but with him it seems to be a habit, which makes me suspect something more sinister than simple sloppiness. Mr Pettigrew, could you please tell Remus and Harry what you told me about serving under Dumbledore in the Order of the Phoenix?"

"Well," Pettigrew began, "in all honesty, Remus, one of the reasons I decided to leave everything behind was that I didn't want to continue in Dumbledore's service. When we joined the Order, I did admire him. He had defeated Grindelwald, after all, and he was the only one You-Know-Who ever feared. But when I observed him closer, I quickly lost my respect and trust."

"You said to me, _sometimes I wondered if he wanted more people to die_," I said. I remembered those words well, because I had made similar conclusions from the old man's actions.

"It really seemed so! Didn't you, Remus, ever wonder why Dumbledore was so passive throughout the war? Ten years of horror, but he just waited!"

"I think you're far too harsh to Dumbledore," Remus said tightly. "And Tom, you have incomplete information of what happened during those years. No one knew where Voldemort was hiding, or where he would attack next. It wasn't exactly a war, but a series of terrorist strikes."

"I'm aware of that," I said, "but it is possible to adapt to such a situation too. Was Dumbledore the first one to rush to wherever the Death Eaters had attacked? No, he stayed at Hogwarts, _running a school_ when people were dying, for Merlin's sake! Did he ever try to lure Voldemort into a trap? He could have limited Voldemort's influence by arresting those pure-blood leaders who were obviously Voldemort's supporters. Can you come up with excuses for these omissions?"

Remus was almost pulling his greying hair in frustration.

"Look, I can't say that I know everything Dumbledore did or didn't do during the war…"

"My point is," I interrupted, "that whatever Dumbledore's strategy was, it was very ineffective. If that is all he's capable of, we cannot rely on his leadership when the next war begins. Voldemort's return is inevitable. He will find a way to a physical body sooner or later, and he will have his revenge. In fact, he may already be back. How would we know about it?"

Pettigrew was sweating nervously again.

"Um, Professor – I mean, Remus?" Harry said. "Dumbledore is not infallible, and he certainly admits it himself. You don't know Tom as well as I do, and I know he has talent for military thinking. I'm interested to hear what he's suggesting."

"Thank you for the vote of confidence, Harry," I said. "My suggestion is that we begin our own preparations for the coming conflict, and do so regardless of what Dumbledore does. Kind of another Order of the Phoenix, but led by people who know what they're doing."

"You'd have me to go against Dumbledore?" Remus said defiantly.

"No, just to ignore him. He is so passive that I think it would be wisest to act as if he didn't exist. We cannot rely on him to save us, or even to help us."

"Tom, I want you to know that I owe everything to Dumbledore. He allowed me to come to Hogwarts, he trusted me when so many werewolves allied with Voldemort, he employed me as a teacher…"

"But he also left you alone right after you had lost all your friends, because you had served your purpose in the war that had ended," I pointed out. "He made you the Defence Professor, making you the target of the curse that had been the death of the two previous professors. To me it seems quite obvious that you are just a disposable tool for Dumbledore."

My words were like a kick to the stomach for Remus.

"Remus," Pettigrew said, "please consider it. You must see that Dumbledore is not the hero you've always wanted to believe he is. It wasn't easy for me either to reconsider my opinion of him, but I had to do it."

"Besides, look how much help he has been to you recently. You're unemployed again, and now the entire Britain knows your secret. In retrospect, it was obvious this was the result of your year as the Defence Professor. Unlike Dumbledore, I'm not asking you to join my organization as a volunteer combatant who only gets a pat on the head as a reward. As I said, I'm willing to employ you to teach us whatever you can. Even if you don't believe in my reasoning – yet – you have a very good reason to accept my proposition."

"And I do accept it, I already did when we talked about it before I left Hogwarts. Just, please, I don't want to be a part of a conspiracy that opposes Dumbledore in any way. If he asks my help again, I will help him. And I hope you'll be open-minded towards him. If he turns out to be better at opposing Voldemort than you think now, you should be able to admit that you were wrong."

"I am a Slytherin, remember. I never believe in what I want to be true. I am always on the process of questioning myself, and observations and logic are more important to me than my preferences."

"That sounds quite Ravenclaw to me," Remus remarked.

"Yes, but to Ravenclaws that way of thinking is important in itself. To me it is but a means of achieving my ambitions."

"What is it that you plan this, um, Order of Valedro to do?" Pettigrew asked.

"Well, Remus will teach Harry spells and generally useful skills. Hermione is also interested to study during the summer. I will continue my plans with my fellow Slytherins. I've already given some of them interesting things to do, and that means they're unlikely to join Voldemort when the next war begins. Our goal is to end the war very quickly."

"The House of Slytherin has changed a lot after our school years in the seventies," Remus said. "There were secret fan clubs of Voldemort and everything. Some of the oldest Slytherins were really threatening, and many of them joined Voldemort the very day they graduated. I was surprised to find out that things had changed so much for the better."

"Tom was the most important cause for the change," Harry said. "It's still hard to believe that Draco Malfoy of all people was the one who saved me after I fell from my broom."

"Speculations and conspiracy theories have always been a part of the discussion in Slytherin, but this year there was something quite unusual," I said. "I think it may have something to do with the change as well. Someone suggested that Voldemort was actually Dumbledore in disguise."

"WHAT?" Harry and Remus cried in unison.

"I argued against it," I lied, "but in all honesty, the theory was surprisingly difficult to debunk. As Dumbledore never confronted Voldemort, they were never observed as separate people. The theory explains why Dumbledore wasn't very keen on ending the war, and also how the war ended so very favourably for Dumbledore's political positions. Etcetera."

"That's the most far-fetched thing I've ever heard," Remus mumbled. He looked so shocked that I was sure the theory did not actually seem that outlandish to him. Another seed of doubt was planted!

"I don't believe it," I said. "Harry, didn't you see Voldemort and Dumbledore at the same time during that Philosopher's Stone incident?"

"Um… actually, I had already fainted when Dumbledore arrived to save me," Harry said.

"Oh, how convenient… but anyway, speculation will not take us anywhere. We need more information about what Dumbledore does and doesn't do. That means we need a spy."

I turned to look at Pettigrew, who flinched. He had clearly feared and expected this. I was, of course, only interested in Dumbledore's possible nefarious plan for the Greater Evil, the one I had begun to suspect after the Patronus lesson, but that was something I was not ready to speak with anyone.

"We'll put your spying skills to good use," I continued. "I want you to return to Hogwarts, but instead of just slacking like a parasite, you will keep a very close watch on Dumbledore. In his office. I want to know everything the old schemer is doing when no one is supposed to be seeing."

"Really? You want me to spy on Dumbledore _in his office?_" Pettigrew squealed hysterically. "There's no way I'm not caught!"

"Dumbledore is not known of tight security. Black waltzing in and out undetected should be proof enough of that."

"But surely his office is a whole different matter!"

"So you refuse to do it?"

"Of course! I'm not suicidal!"

I looked at him sternly. Harry and Remus were clearly about to object to spying Dumbledore, and so I quickly came up with another task.

"Fine, I've got another option for you, one potentially even more interesting. The Department of Mysteries in the Ministry." Pettigrew's eyes widened and he began to gasp as if hyperventilating. "I know they study the most esoteric mysteries known to wizardkind. Life and death, mind and soul, time and space, the very nature of magic… Atlantean secrets. I'm sure the Unspeakables have hoarded all knowledge there is about Atlantis in their archives."

"But… Atlantis is just a myth!"

"I know it is a myth, but is it _just_ a myth? That is what I want to know. It is irrelevant if it really was a magical civilization beyond our wildest dreams. What is relevant is that all wizards with ambition to master the true potential of magic have been interested in it. Dumbledore, Grindelwald, Voldemort, and now I. Even if it's just a dead end, I want to see it for myself."

"Isn't that quite extreme?" Remus asked. "There's a reason for the Department of Mysteries being closed from the public."

"We're preparing for a war," I reminded him. "And Voldemort has inside information. Surely you've heard of Augustus Rookwood?"

Rookwood had been at Hogwarts with me for three years. As an older student, he had not become one of those who had gathered around me, but at some point afterwards Voldemort had recruited him. He had been one of the cleverest students of his year, which had opened him the way to the Department of Mysteries. What secrets he had leaked to Voldemort, I did not know, but the punishment had been life sentence in Azkaban.

"You really want a Time-Turner, don't you?" Harry asked.

"That single thing would win the war for us," I said. "Imagine if your parents had had one that fateful night."

Pettigrew looked like a trapped rat with a desperate urge escape.

"Peter, if I recall correctly, you talked about sneaking into the Department of Mysteries during our sixth year," Remus said. I had expected more opposition from him, and he seemed to notice my surprised glance, because he explained, "I have no love or much respect for the Ministry. I'm currently being harassed by a bunch of anti-werewolf bureaucrats who'd like to retroactively criminalize my tenure at Hogwarts."

"It's time for you to earn your keep," I said to Pettigrew. "This is your task in our new secret society. Perfect for someone who's not supposed to be alive. If you're caught, you can claim you somehow came through the Veil of Death. You won't be punished for that."

"But if they decide to send me back?" Pettigrew squeaked. I merely shrugged in reply; it was difficult to reassure such a coward. The silence was starting to become awkward, but luckily Harry changed the topic.

"Have you already made a lesson plan for the summer?" he asked Remus.

"Yes, I'm thinking of taking you to the Creature Reserves in Wales. There we can also practice the fourth year spells and so on. Tom, is it okay if I go through these plans with Harry now?"

"Yes, I think that was all I'd planned for us today," I said. I had quite a list of things to do during the summer, and seeking out more Horcruxes and planning the theft of a Time-Turner were of much higher priority than socializing with these people.

"Peter, do you have time later?" Remus asked. "I want to know everything you've been up to after our last meeting."

"Sure," Pettigrew said, suddenly looking uneasy again. He clearly did not like talking about himself. "I'd really like to…"

Pettigrew followed Harry and Remus out of the room, but not before glancing briefly back at me. I held a brochure in my hand about the Ministry of Magic, its departments, and the underground complex it was located in. He gulped and hurried out.

* * *

Peter Pettigrew did not return that evening, or the next. Remus grew concerned; he told that his old friend had appeared alarmingly nervous, almost on the verge of a mental breakdown, and very unwilling to speak about anything.

Salazar had said that anything could be an opportunity, but I could not imagine what opportunity there might be in Pettigrew running away. Well, at least I did not need to endure his irritating presence anymore. Besides, it had been clear from the beginning that he would not have agreed to risk his life in order to spy for me. Perhaps it was better this way. One did not become the Dark Lord by clinging to lost causes.

* * *

Published on the 14th of March, 2020.


	25. Another Black Affair

Chapter 25

ANOTHER BLACK AFFAIR

During my childhood, I had heard much about films. The living pictures had been a wonder of the modern times, but we orphans had never had the opportunity to see a single film. I had been quite angry about it, but luckily the wizarding world had offered something much better: moving paintings which had bright colours and could speak, unlike the Muggle films.

After my return to life I had decided to find out how much the new technology had changed the world of films. Seeing my first film had been quite an overwhelming experience. Films had colours, people could speak in them, and they no longer needed a live orchestra for the music. The visual effects were like magic. It could be a great form of art if someone just put artistic effort into it. Mass production of films was disheartening, it was wasting the potential.

Still, I did not lose my hope. Every now and then I checked the film reviews from Muggle newspapers in the hope of finding a really good one.

That was how I learned of a highly praised horror film. Every critic seemed to consider it the absolute best of its genre. It was produced, directed, and written by…

… by…

I had to rub my eyes.

… by _Dennis Bishop!_

_What?_ My fellow orphan, one of the two I had visited the cave with, had become an eminent film industry magnate?

There was his interview in the newspaper, and he explained the inspiration for his new film. As a child, he had lived at an orphanage, and he had visited a horrible cave. That experience had caused him nightmares for decades, until he had turned that source of fear into a source of inspiration. He would have liked to return to the cave for the filming, but unfortunately he had not found it again.

I burst out laughing. I could not explain what exactly was so amusing about it. Perhaps it was the fact that fate was so unpredictable.

What a pity Dennis had not found the cave again. It should not have been that difficult. I remembered perfectly well where it was…

I was suddenly on my feet. If the cave could not be found, it might be magically concealed. And if it was, who would have concealed it if not Voldemort?

Of course! Why had I not thought about it sooner? Voldemort had chosen the cave to hide one of his Horcruxes! It was the perfect place: remote, ominous, unknown to others, personally significant.

Soon I would have the third one in my possession!

* * *

I hovered on my Firebolt next to the steep seaside cliffs that were familiar to me from one of the few enjoyable days of my childhood before my first entry to Hogwarts. It was a harsh and unwelcoming place, but still better in every way when compared to the orphanage. Climbing down had required all magical skills I had developed on my own. (Mrs Cole had accused me of causing the horrible traumas to Dennis Bishop and Amy Benson, which was outrageous. Without me those two kids would have slipped for sure and found their graves from beneath the waves. Certainly they rather took the traumas than death, especially since the traumas were not entirely a bad thing. Come to think of it, it was quite ungrateful for Dennis not to give me credit for his success in the film industry.)

It did not take very long for me to find the footholds on the cliffs, but they did not lead to the small cave. There was nothing to be seen, just rock. Somehow the cave had disappeared as if it had never existed. Such an adversity had obviously discouraged Dennis's filming team, but to me it was a clear sign that there was magic hiding one of the pieces of my soul.

I made good use of the Blunt Triggering Spell again, and this time they tore Voldemort's magic away much faster than in Little Hangleton. This place did not need such strong defences; if anyone decided to break into the cave, it meant he knew there was one with something important placed within, and in that case no mere concealment would stop him.

Once the entrance to the cave was visible again, I began my normal procedure of casting revealing and diagnostic charms, and entered only after I was sure it was safe. As I remembered, there was the tight opening that I had thought of as an antechamber, but unlike I remembered, the way to the inner and larger cave was blocked by solid-looking rock.

One diagnostic charm later I knew that a part of the wall was a magical creation that could be opened when certain criteria were met. The obvious criterion was that it only opened for Lord Voldemort. Such a criterion was soul magic, which meant the wall should acknowledge me to be him. However, after slapping the wall a few times I was convinced Voldemort had not used that method. It was not actually a surprise; if he had used it, why there instead of the entrance? Next I tried to hiss commands to the wall with Parseltongue, but again to no avail.

It was strange. Voldemort had not secured the entrance very well. Perhaps this was a similar; anyone could gain entry to the inner cave? If I was to design such inadequate protection, I would at least ensure that the intruder would enter weakened. That meant a sacrifice of blood.

A few drops were enough to dissolve the wall, and very carefully I proceeded onwards and soon saw once again the eerily still lake, the most magnificent place I had been to before Hogwarts. I could almost hear the echoes of the horrified screams of Dennis Bishop and Amy Benson still lingering there. It was now more dangerous a place than ever; I could feel the presence of Dark magic tingling on my skin, and my diagnostic charms confirmed that the place was deadly. There was also the constricting feeling of the Anti-Apparition Ward; there would be no quick way to safety… unless…

"Dobby?"

_Crack_.

"Master Tom, sir!" the elf said.

As I had expected: Voldemort had not been clever enough to realize that the Anti-Apparition Ward did not work on the house-elves' version of the spell.

"Grasp my sleeve and Apparate us to safety at the first sign of trouble," I said.

The adventure continued by the shore of the lake. There was a green glow emanating from the middle of the lake, and I was sure that was where Voldemort had put one of his Horcruxes. I was yet unsure how the glow could be reached; the Firebolt had been rendered useless by the Anti-Flying Ward, and I was not venturing into the lake which was without a doubt filled with monsters.

Suddenly my constant stream of diagnostic and revealing charms alerted me to a faint trace of magic. There was a boat hidden under the water, but it was not difficult to get it up. It felt like a trap, but by this point I had understood what kind of laughable security measures Voldemort had used to protect his anchors to immortality. The man was simply crazy. He had put his Horcruxes to obvious places and did not make them impossible to find. This cave was an indisputable proof of his idiocy: the lack of protections at the entrance, the antechamber that could be opened by anyone, and now a boat to cross to lake. Did he think that if someone was able to survive these obstacles, they deserved to find the Horcrux? Was this a _challenge?_

The lake was full of Inferi, but they did not rise to stop me as I sailed to the rock from where the glow originated. There was a basin filled with ominous green potion, the source of light. I approached it carefully, then sighed. Another obstacle? Any sane person would hide the Horcrux at the bottom of the lake, not display it openly.

Then again, I did not yet know if the Horcrux was in the basin. It could be a decoy. I tried to Vanish the potion, then to evaporate it, then to pour it to another basin that I had conjured, but at least Voldemort had made all these methods of getting rid of it impossible. It had to be drunk.

I turned to look at Dobby who was clearly wondering why his master had ended up in such a place. It would be foolish to sacrifice my quick way out, and Harry would question me if the elf suddenly disappeared. Would I have to drop by in the Muggle prison again and kidnap a murderer?

Then I remembered that I had once planned a secret password for myself. It was in Parseltongue so that no one else could pronounce it. Perhaps Voldemort had used it to open these obstacles if he ever wanted to visit the cave or to take the Horcrux away.

"_Slytherin, slither out_," I hissed.

The potion drained from the basin, and a golden locket was revealed. I chuckled. I should have tried that in Little Hangleton.

"Pick it up," I told Dobby, and he obeyed.

It was not the Locket of Salazar Slytherin that I had seen in many pictures. I was beginning to get intrigued. Voldemort had, after all, used a decoy!

"Open it," I said.

"There is a message, Master Tom, sir," Dobby said.

I cast a diagnostic charm on the small piece of parchment, then took it. It read,

_To the Dark Lord  
I know I will be dead long before you read this,  
but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret.  
I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can.  
I face death in the hope that when you meet your match,  
you will be mortal once more.  
R.A.B._

There were so many thoughts and feelings in my head that I quickly decided to handle them later. Surprise, worry, even grudging respect for the one who had discovered Voldemort's plan to make himself immortal.

"We're done here," I said. "Take us home."

_Crack_.

* * *

I forced myself to play the violin for half an hour before I returned to ponder the mystery of the locket. There was one thing I could tell about R.A.B.: Voldemort had known him. That limited the possible people behind the initials.

"Dobby? Do you know anyone with the initials R.A.B.?" I asked.

"No one comes to Dobby's mind at the moment, sir," the elf said after thinking for a while.

Well, there was this lovely thing called index of persons, the value of which could be understood only when one was not available.

"_Accio Rise and Fall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named_," I said, and the book zoomed to me.

_Black, Regulus_ was the only one whose first and last name matched the initials. (I thought briefly about how long solving this mystery would have taken from a less competent person than myself.) He had been a Death Eater, and the brother of Sirius Black. It made sense that it would be a Death Eater who learned of Voldemort's Horcruxes.

I did not want to admit that one of my anchors to immortality was destroyed, which was why I read the message again and again, and then I noticed something that gave me hope. Regulus Black had told that he _intended _to destroy the Horcrux – that meant that at the moment of writing he had not known how to do it. And, according to the book, he had been killed very shortly after joining the Death Eaters. Clearly Voldemort had not learned of his betrayal, because the wrong locket had remained in the cave. It was possible Black had not succeeded in destroying the Locket of Slytherin, in which case the Horcrux might still be intact.

My next project was to learn the whereabouts of the house where the main line of the House of Black had lived. It turned out to be surprisingly difficult, much more difficult than finding the places Voldemort had hidden his Horcruxes. I leafed through many books about magical genealogy and pure-blood families, but found nothing, and I grew very frustrated. Orion Black, father of Sirius and Regulus, had been one of the Slytherin students who had gathered around me, but I could not recall a single time he would have mentioned where he lived. (Which was not that surprising, because he had been a year younger than I, and the role of everyone in my gang, and especially the younger ones, had been to listen to me, not to prattle about themselves.)

Hours passed, and Harry and Remus returned from one of their excursions, but they left me alone after they saw that I was almost buried with books. Eventually my head began to ache, and I went to bed, muttering sullenly about Orion's paranoia and wondering whether he had learned it from me.

* * *

When I woke up the next morning, my head felt much clearer, and I suddenly realized how I had been overly stubborn and disregarded another way of learning what I wanted. I quickly wrote a letter to the Malfoys, asking for an audience as soon as possible, and summoned Dobby.

"Get an owl, Apparate just outside the wards of your previous masters, and send this letter to them. Stay and wait for the owl to return with a reply, then come back home."

"Yes, Master Tom, sir!" the elf said, took the message, and Disapparated with a _crack_.

Dobby returned after twenty minutes, bringing a message from the Malfoys. Their whole family was at home at the moment, and they were happy to meet me. Without wasting time I Apparated outside of the gate of the Malfoy estate, signalling my arrival by touching the metal bars. The gate opened silently, and I began to walk with long strides towards the manor.

Draco and his parents were waiting for me while overseeing a group of house-elves preparing some kind of garden party for the wealthy pure-blood high society.

"Hello, Tom!" Draco said enthusiastically. "I was thinking about writing to you. Now that it's summer, there are many social activities for respectable wizard families!"

That was probably the least favourite part of the Slytherin culture to me: pointless socializing, pointless gossiping, petty politics, and the gargantuan amount of effort wasted in them. In my first life I had been invited to such frivolities, but I had never showed up, partially because I had never had enough money to acquire garments fine enough to hide my low background. (Only after having been freed of the Trace I had been free to steal and swindle as much money as I needed.) Many opportunities to manipulate people had been lost, but at least I had used the time to study.

"That sounds interesting," I forced myself to say, "but this is not a social visit. I may have a lead to finding Sirius Black. That's why I came to ask where his family lived. This information seems to be kept secret from the wider wizarding community."

I addressed these words to Narcissa Malfoy, née Black, cousin of Sirius and Regulus. She had certainly visited Regulus's home many times even though she had been of the cadet line of the House of Black. That was the way of these pompous aristocrats: balls, feasts, and other nonsense to give them something to do. It was no wonder none of them had become the Dark Lord.

"The townhouse is in London," Mrs Malfoy said. "Let me think… Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. The house is very well protected. If Sirius has managed to master the wards through his blood, he may very well be hiding in there."

"Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place?" I said. "Thank you, Mrs Malfoy. If I'll have him captured, I'll let the Aurors know that you've been of indispensable help. Good day to you all."

With that, I turned on my heels and left, leaving the three Malfoys looking bemusedly after me.

"Um… Mr Valedro believes in being efficient," I heard Draco explaining my abrupt departure to his parents.

Only while explaining my false reason to find the townhouse of the House of Black had I realized that it actually might be the hiding place of Sirius Black. My desire to get my hands on one more Horcrux was not so strong that I would have wanted to single-handedly assault a place where a crazed mass-murderer was probably lurking, and so I headed to the Ministry of Magic. There I went to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and spoke to the receptionist.

"Good morning, Miss," I said with my most charming smile. "I've got important information for the Law Enforcement. Is this the place to request help from the Aurors?"

"Yes it is," said the receptionist, a witch had probably graduated from Hogwarts two or three years previously. "What kind of affair is this about?"

"A Black affair. I think I know where Sirius Black is hiding."

"Sirius Black?" the receptionist gasped and bounced off her seat.

Just a minute later I was in the office of the Head Auror, a grim old warrior named Rufus Scrimgeour. He looked at me with sharp, measuring eyes, but nodded approvingly in the end. It was a good thing I had bought the citizenship of wizarding Britain by donating such a huge pile of Galleons to the Ministry that everyone there remembered me fondly. The Aurors might even have got a raise because of my generosity.

"Hmph… information about Sirius Black, eh, lad?" the Auror grunted. "I hope this is worth our time. Minister Fudge is already quite annoyed with our lack of progress. How come you have a lead that my Aurors don't?"

"I was studying the history of British pure-blood families, and noticed that there is no knowledge whatsoever about where the House of Black lived. That's probably because the house is removed from the Ministry's records."

"Aye, they've always been secretive folk, the Blacks," Scrimgeour said. "One of them bribed the Ministry and got an Order of Merlin! Perhaps he used the opportunity to tamper the records."

"Well, I learned the whereabouts just this morning from someone who visited the townhouse before the deaths of Sirius Black's parents."

"Do share the information, Mr Valedro. I'll lead a team of Aurors there myself."

"There's a prize for the one who finds Black, right? I don't want it stolen from me. That's why I'm willing to share the information only if you let me accompany you on this mission."

Irritation flashed in the eyes of the old Auror.

"Not trusting the authorities, I take it?"

"'Constant Vigilance,'" I quoted, the corner of my mouth curving into a smirk.

"Well, you are of age, so I am allowed to take you as a guide."

* * *

Ten minutes later I stood amidst some dingy houses of a notorious part of London, accompanied by Scrimgeour and two Aurors he had chosen for the mission, John Dawlish and Kingsley Shacklebolt. We were facing the place where Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place should be, but appeared not to. I hoped Sirius Black was not inside the house we were about to reveal, because I had been able to use revenge as a means of teaching Harry some important life lessons. Ideally, Harry would be the one to punish Black for his betrayal, but in this case I had prioritized otherwise. My Horcrux was more important.

"All right, begin dismantling the wards," Scrimgeour commanded, and the three Aurors pointed their wands between the two visible houses.

They were all authorized Curse-Breakers as well as Aurors, but it still took the three of them over an hour to unravel the protections so that none of them blew up on our faces. Eventually Scrimgeour wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead and said,

"Now it's safe to break them. Join us, Mr Valedro, if you're so keen to participate."

It still took surprisingly much magical power to tear the protections away; we really had to struggle with the task. Finally our combined efforts caused a sound like a muffled thunderclap as the wards broke down. A house appeared between the two Muggle houses, eerily pushing them apart. An ominous door was right in front of us, looking more unwelcoming than anything I had seen in a very long time, even the cave.

It took us a few more moments to open the door, and the Aurors entered first, their wands ready for action. The interior was dark, dusty, and stifling. I could not help but wonder if it truly was the townhouse of the immensely rich Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. It was so undignified.

"_Homenum Revelio_," Scrimgeour whispered. "There's someone in here… a house-elf, possibly. But don't let your guard down. There may be more wards, perhaps some that hide the family members. We must search the entire building…"

His words were interrupted by an ear-piercing scream so horrible that even the action-hardened Aurors almost got a heart attack, let alone I.

"HOW DARE YOU ATTACK MY ANCESTRAL HOME?!"

It was a portrait of a hideous old witch. Our four Silencing Charms had absolutely no effect against her verbal assault.

"SCUM! FILTH! BEASTS! GET BACK TO THE HELL THAT SPAWNED YOU!"

Another cry of fury came from the shadowy staircase, and an ancient house-elf lunged at us, but he was quickly brought down by a Stunning Charm.

"If Black's in here, he's now alerted to our presence!" Scrimgeour roared. "Dawlish, you must stay here and guard the entrance in case he tries to escape! Shacklebolt and I will start our search in the basement!"

"It's perhaps best to guard the entrance from the outside!" I remarked. "Black may attempt his escape from the windows!"

"Better there than here," Dawlish grumbled and left the hallway.

"YOU BEINGS OF DIRT DEFILE THE HOUSE OF MY FATHERS!"

"Mr Valedro, you're too young and inexperienced to accompany us here!" Scrimgeour barked. "I can't let you come further! Join Dawlish outside!"

"Fine, just get to work. We've wasted enough time."

The two Aurors disappeared into the basement. I did not exit the house, but turned into the unconscious house-elf and showed such an amount of self-restraint that I impressed myself by not incinerating the shrieking portrait with a flash of Dark magic. The Locket might be hidden behind it, and Horcruxes were vulnerable to Fiendfyre.

"_Imperio. Rennervate._"

The house-elf opened his eyes.

"Is Sirius Black in here?" I asked. "Is there a locket in this house brought by Regulus Black?"

"No. Yes," the house-elf croaked.

"Give the locket to me," I ordered, feeling triumphant.

The elf began to shamble up the stairs. I followed him after I had cast the Disillusionment Charm on myself. On the first floor the elf opened a door and we entered what appeared to be a drawing room. Years of abandonment had not been kind to the room: it reeked of dust and Dark magic.

The Blacks had hoarded magical items of all sorts. Tomes, jewellery, potion ingredients, enchanted clothing and furniture, all imaginable kinds of requisite. Much of it was probably outlawed centuries ago. It was a real treasury.

"Look at this," I admired. "Dobby!"

_Crack_.

"Master Tom, sir."

"These foul items are the belongings of a deranged murderer. We'll do a public service and relocate them all. There should be room in the secure chamber in my basement."

"Yes there is, Master Tom," Dobby said happily.

The other elf was standing next to me, silently handing me something. Oh yes, I had almost forgotten what I came here for, the Locket of Slytherin. There it was, the serpentine S and all!

"Is it safe to touch?"

"It feels malicious," the elf mumbled.

"Wrap it in this," I ordered and gave him the cloth I had taken with me for the purpose. "Dobby, take the Locket to my study. Then come back and take all these items home. Keep hurry; two Aurors will come here before long. Don't let them see you."

Quickly I sneaked out of the room, downstairs, and joined Dawlish out on the street.

* * *

Even though Sirius Black was not found and captured, Scrimgeour did not consider the day's mission pointless. He and Shacklebolt found many cursed and illegal items from the basement and the attic, and he put the house under surveillance in case Black came there later on. We had lunch in the Ministry's cafeteria with Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and a few other notable officials, and someone suggested that I should become an Auror. I smiled and nodded and said appropriate things, but hurried home at the first opportunity.

The Locket of Slytherin was intact, and there was one of my soul fragments hidden within. I would soon begin my attempts to bind the Horcruxes to me, but in the meantime the Locket would wait in my Gringotts vault with the other two.

Three found, two still to go.

* * *

"_He'll kill me for losing his ring."_

"_Why?" Albus Dumbledore asked. "What is so important about the ring?"_

"_It's our family heirloom. There's the Peverell coat of arms engraved on its stone."_

"_Peverell coat of arms?!" Dumbledore shouted, grabbing Morfin by the shirt. "A line, a circle, and a triangle? Speak!"_

"_Yeah, somethin' like that…"_

"_Where is the stone now?!"_

"_I just told you, I lost it. It was the day I killed the Muggle filth…"_

_Dumbledore stormed out of the cell._

Albus Dumbledore thought about his short conversation with the murderer over and over again while he flew over Little Hangleton. He visited the dilapidated Riddle house and used every single searching and revealing charm he knew, but to no avail.

Next he stormed into the cottage of Frank Bryce, the caretaker of the Riddle house, and used Legilimency on him. He wanted to know if anyone had ever found a ring in the village, but the old Muggle did not remember anything of the kind. Dumbledore was not satisfied with that, and proceeded to use Legilimency on every old enough inhabitant of the village, but still he was left without the ring or information about it.

When the village was thoroughly searched, he flew towards the shack where the Gaunts had lived, casting searching and revealing charms all the way in case Morfin had dropped the ring before reaching the village. Soon he found the remains of the shack. His massive barrage of charms found nothing but a small amount of residual magic.

Someone had excavated right in the middle of the ruin. A rotten wooden box was left behind, and Dumbledore used an extremely advanced spell on it. A mist rose from it, taking the shape the box had been before. A golden ring had been kept in the box, and there had been a stone attached to the ring.

But not anymore. The ring was gone, removed quite recently.

To say that Albus Dumbledore was furious would have been an understatement. He had not felt such fury ever since Harry Potter and Ronald and Ginevra Weasley had not been able to tell him where the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets was hidden. In his rage he smashed the box with a flick of the Elder Wand, but eventually he managed to calm himself. He had been patient for a century. At least someone had the Resurrection Stone; finding that someone might not be too difficult.

* * *

Published on the 23rd on March, 2020.


	26. Socialite

Chapter 26

SOCIALITE

Summer was the most active social season in wizarding Britain, and my many Slytherin acquaintances made sure I would have had something to do every single day even if I had abandoned all my training sessions in the Kwikspell Company, violin and martial arts sessions in the Muggle world, and the meetings with Harry and his friends. The most important families seemed to have some kind of a competition on which one of them threw the most spectacular party. I visited the manors of the Malfoys, the Notts, the Jugsons, and the Greengrasses, and had to endure their extravagant displays of wealth. Unlike Professor Slughorn, who was always present and overflowing with almost childish enthusiasm, I grew tired of it very soon.

But socializing was a necessity if I wanted to achieve my goals. However, I preferred to do it my way. In July I arranged the first meeting of the Slytherin alumni who had graduated in the recent years, and over fifty people showed up in my house in Diagon Alley. Ethan Jugson was my intermediary in dealing with them, and he was present as my right-hand man. I had also asked Draco and Theodore to come; although they were much younger than the rest, their presence meant that their two powerful families approved of my plans. Lastly, I had ordered Marcus Flint, Lucian Bole, Peregrine Derrick, Graham Montague, Miles Bletchley, and Cassius Warrington to come too. Their role was to show that brutish Quidditch-enthusiasts could also be interested in what I had to say.

The name Valedro was unknown to my guests; some of them had heard a little about me from their younger relatives, but it was not enough to establish me as the future Slytherin leader I was determined to become. That was why I had to make a favourable first impression by imitating the ways of the aristocrats who had nothing better to do. I had hired more house-elves for the day, I had put on display many of the relics I had stolen from the Black townhouse and bought from Borgin and Burkes, and I also made sure they noticed my Firebolt. (For some reason that I did not fully comprehend, broomsticks were the most important status symbol of a wizard. It was shallow, but shallowness did not prevent me from using it for my advantage.)

Most of my guests were much like Flint: mediocre wizards at best, but still convinced that they were distinguished by the simple virtue of their lineage. As I started to get acquainted with them by subtly demonstrating how I was superior to them in every way, I felt as if I was hosting a poor man's Slug Club. Few of these people would have been invited to Professor Slughorn's dinners, but perhaps it was better that way. Rich and powerful aristocrats would have their role as my lieutenants, but unless I was ready to force them to service like Voldemort had done, it would have been impossible to herd just them. These plebeians suited my purpose much better; in their unwarranted arrogance they felt that their lack of power and prestige was because of some injustice towards them, and I had experience in using such feelings for my benefit.

In fact, as I exchanged greetings and introductions with them, I felt I had experience with dealing with them specifically even though I had not. The majority of them were people whose forebears I had known in my first life, and I had successfully dealt with them back then. I would again utilize the methods I had tested and found worthwhile.

"Welcome, my fellow Slytherins," I said after everyone had arrived and gathered around the table which I had enlarged for the meeting. "It's been a little more than a year since I came to Britain from New Zealand, and I think it's high time we start actually doing something. I've discussed with the patriarchs of a few powerful families – " I gestured to Draco, Theodore, and Ethan, who were sitting close to me " – and they all agree that we Slytherins have been too defensive and reactive ever since the disappearance of the Dark Lord. Suspiciously, this has been for the benefit of Albus Dumbledore's political games. Most of you have surely heard of the theory that's been going around?"

My guests nodded and muttered in confirmation.

"Lord Voldemort was Albus Dumbledore in disguise! I was the one who suggested this idea, and as of yet, I have no reason to think otherwise. Everything has happened too much according to Dumbledore's goals to my liking. But what, exactly, are Dumbledore's goals?"

I took out an old pamphlet which I had bought from an antiquarian in Knockturn Alley – a pamphlet with Grindelwald's translated speeches.

"_For the Greater Good_," I read. "To understand the contemporary world, we must not forget the history – although Professor Binns has made that quite difficult." Some of my guests chuckled dryly. "Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald, putting an end to the campaign of making us wizards the rulers of this world. While Dumbledore has, with Voldemort's help, made sure that we wizards have wasted our time with internal disputes, Muggle scientists have created vast arsenals of weapons beyond any magic known to wizardkind. Our advantage against the Muggles is quickly diminishing."

After this introductory speech I proceeded to the part that I had rehearsed many times at Hogwarts the previous year. I told them about science and technology, and Muggle weaponry in particular. The illusions which had made such an impression on the younger Slytherins were again demonstrated in their frightening efficiency. And while talking, I scanned the minds of my guests with Legilimency, seeking out those who were the most receptive to my ideas.

After that day, more meetings followed the first one. Some of the Slytherins were not interested enough to put aside their Quidditch nonsense for my plans, but I did not consider it a loss. There were also those who had not come to the first meeting, but joined the fledgling conspiracy later.

Flint had become genuinely interested in Muggle weapons, and while waiting for the start of his military service he practiced with the weapons I had acquired for him. It was his task to convince more people to grasp this unorthodox way of securing future power. I was happy to find out that several older Slytherins, mainly those who were not talented enough to play Quidditch in any local team, heeded his words.

By the time I graduated from Hogwarts, I would have the beginnings of a private army.

* * *

Social manipulation was the most Slytherin thing I could imagine, but when meeting more and more important wizards who had been Professor Slughorn's favourites, I began to wonder if I was one of the very few truly Slytherin people in wizarding Britain. Every occasion when I had to deal with another human being was a part of some mission or another; I never did so without some kind of a goal and a purpose. But, to my frustration, few other people were like this. The aristocrats who were occupied in a competition of giving the grandest banquet were just wasting their time.

Power had been my goal ever since I had been old enough to understand the concept. Nothing had seemed more tempting to the hungry orphan who had been constantly reminded of living on the mercy and goodwill of other, more fortunate people. My window at the orphanage had shown the dreariest of sights to the narrow alleyway, there had never been enough food, and other orphans had annoyed me with their crying. As I had felt magic inside me, I had decided that I would follow the footsteps of emperors and forge a new world where the blights of the old one would no longer trouble me. It had been a vision of glory.

The contrast of that vision to the pointless social activities of the aristocrats was appalling. It was actually quite shocking how easily I earned the favour of the most important people of wizarding Britain. I just had to attend every event, act politely, say some insightful things, and let Professor Slughorn compliment me to his other favourites. It was not the glorious way to power. Nor was it a way to the kind of power I wanted. I could become Lucius Malfoy's equal or even the Minister for Magic, but to truly become a lord I would have to show my superiority and put them all in their places. Voldemort had succeeded in it, regardless of his flaws.

Because of this attitude of mine I could not enjoy the long days and evening spent in the most luxurious palaces of wizarding Britain, but even that appeared to be an advantage to me. My constantly bored and unimpressed demeanour was considered very sophisticated. The actual members of the high society did their best to appear bored, but they had become so good at seeing through the acting of one another that they could not hide the fact that they enjoyed every opportunity to gossip. In such a company I was on a totally different level, and they looked up to me because of it. (It was bittersweet irony that I had found myself in a situation where being apathetic was a good thing. The thought made me grimace.)

However, one of the manors where I became a frequent visitor suited my taste much better than the other ones. The House of Nott lived in Nottinghamshire, in a magnificent building which had been an abbey before the Statute of Secrecy. Like the Malfoys, the Notts had been a clerical family, ruling over thousands of Muggles, and they had been vocal in their opposition of the Statute, because it had rid them of their subservient peasants and much of their land. Theodore Nott the Elder, my Hogwarts dormmate in my first life, had recently become the patriarch of his family, and he was not as interested in such frivolous occasions as so many other pure-bloods.

Broxtowe Abbey had a pious atmosphere that demanded silence and reverence, and it was difficult to even imagine Dr Filibuster's Fireworks flashing above it the way they had done above Jugson Manor, disturbing the sanctity of the place. I liked the home of the Notts, because it had a similar feeling as Hogwarts, and I decided to borrow some of its stylistic elements when designing my future castle in the Scottish Highlands.

Guests were wandering around the nave of the abbey in small groups, speaking in whispers, while they studied the animated stained glass paintings and the sculptures, and listened to the harp that was playing by itself. But some things were not different from the feasts arranged by the other families. A house-elf hurried to me shortly after my arrival and offered me a goblet of Ogden's Old Firewhisky. I accepted it, because it would have been an insult to decline, but not without wrinkling my nose.

With an inconspicuous tap of my wand I evaporated all alcohol from the goblet before taking a sip. As a child I had seen how alcohol had reduced the already miserable victims of the Great Depression into totally wretched ruins. They had wandered on the shabby alleys of London, trying to forget the fact that they were utterly worthless waste of space, and I had sworn to myself that I would never drink a drop of alcohol. That decision had never wavered.

Theodore Nott the Elder was sitting near the place where the altar of the abbey had been before his ancestors had abandoned Christianity. I sat down on an armchair next to him, and he greeted me with the interest I had already grown used to. His grandson had written to him much after the Malfoy Yule Ball, telling everything about me. I was not sure if he suspected anything about my connection to his old school friend or if he was just curious about the similarity.

There was something very nostalgic about us sitting there together. We were the only ones who remained of the boys Sorted to Slytherin in 1938. Edmond Lestrange, Roger Avery, Sebastian Rosier, and Matthias Mulciber had all died in the war while doing some fool's errands for their insane leader. That was the reward for pledging their lives to Voldemort.

"On Christmas Day, you told me about my namesake whom you knew when at Hogwarts," I said, going directly to the point. Nott's eyes focused on me sharply, and I could see and feel him tensing. "I did some research and found out that he was Tom Riddle, an orphan who lived at a Muggle orphanage and who _supposedly _became Lord Voldemort. Is this not true?"

"Yes, it is so, unfortunately," he said, glancing around to make sure we were not being eavesdropped. "Very few know about it. He forbade us from telling anyone about his origins, even his name."

"My first thought when hearing about his talents was that he and Voldemort were not actually one and the same person, but that Dumbledore stole Mr Riddle's identity for his own purposes. Can you tell if you noticed any changes in his personality before his disappearance?"

Nott did not answer at once. Perhaps Voldemort's forbiddance still frightened him, but then again, I already knew more than most Death Eaters.

"Tom Riddle – he was quiet and timid at first," he said, looking absentmindedly into his goblet. "No one knew him, and he was an outsider in the Slytherin social circles. Some of the students treated him badly because he had no magical relatives, but he was very ruthless and creative in his retributions."

It was actually nice to get this acknowledgement even after all these years. I had forced Edmond Lestrange to submission by slightly shrinking all his left shoes. It had resulted in his left foot growing crooked, causing him much pain over the years in the form of squashed toes and ingrown toenails. Ah, the happy memories!

"But as he demonstrated his amazing talents, talks about the "Slytherin Mudblood" quickly subsided. We came unanimously to the conclusion that he was an heir of a pure-blood family and that only bad fortune had forced him to live in the Muggle world. Everyone in our year and the younger age groups, as well as quite a few older students, accepted him as our leader, and he chaired our homework clubs and other activities with unquestionable authority. He became the student leader of Slytherin in our fourth year, younger than anyone before, when he totally wrecked Anthony Urquhart in a duel. Abraxas – Lucius's late father, you know – who was a year older than us, never gained the status of the student leader, and that was a difficult thing for him to stomach, because the Malfoys traditionally consider it a privilege of theirs. In our fifth year the Chamber of Secrets was opened."

I grew very interested. I had not had the time to find out what my minions had thought about the incident.

"Every Slytherin suspected him of being the Heir of Slytherin, but he denied it. I remember him being much more silent and distant that year, but since it was the year of our OWLs, it was not unexpected or uncommon. When he found out that the half-breed oaf – I cannot remember his name – was the Heir, we all snorted with incredulity. But Headmaster Dippet was so keen to have a scapegoat that he believed in it, or at least pretended to do so. In our sixth year I began to notice the first signs of Riddle's personality changing."

As I had expected: the creation of the Horcrux had damaged the mind of my other self.

"He was irritated all the time," Nott continued. "Sometimes he got sudden fits of rage, and they became more common as time passed. He showed less and less interest towards other people, and when we graduated, he did not celebrate it at all. He was quickly employed by Borgin and Burkes, and when we tried to offer him more suitable jobs for someone of his potential, he told us to get lost. Then he disappeared, only to reappear over two decades later as an immensely cruel and powerful snake-man."

Nott shook his head.

"I can understand why you think Dumbledore might have stolen his identity, but I saw myself how he changed. I do not know why, or how, but it happened."

"Well, it is now all but confirmed that Voldemort was the Heir of Slytherin," I said. "When the Chamber of Secrets was reopened the year before last, it was his disembodied soul that forced Ginevra Weasley to order the monster around. At least, this is what she told after Harry Potter had saved her. I can't rule out the possibility that Dumbledore used mind magic on her and some Dark magic of his own to petrify the students who were supposedly attacked by the monster."

"Why would Dumbledore have done such a thing?"

"To redirect blame? Potter told me that Dumbledore accused Lucius of being uncooperative as a member of the Board of Governors, and succeeded in having him sacked."

"Oh yes, Lucius was quite livid about it."

"Do you have any idea what the purpose of the Chamber of Secrets is?" I asked, finally getting to the topic I had had in mind for months.

"Besides ridding the school of Mudbloods? No. Why do you think it has some other purpose?"

"Because it's just so stupid! I can't believe Salazar Slytherin thought that the monster would have solved anything. The school would have been closed and a new one built. The education of Mudbloods would have continued. And even if it was Slytherin's plan, why did he leave the Chamber closed, to be opened by his descendant? Its name is the Chamber of _Secrets_, so there should be some secrets down there. Maybe the monster is one, but the name suggests there are more."

"Interesting speculation, I must admit. There have been many scholars in my family, but none of them has discovered any other legends of the Chamber of Secrets besides the one known to everyone."

"I wonder if Voldemort knew something more – let's agree for the sake of the discussion that he was not just Dumbledore's guise. It seems he continued Slytherin's plan during his reign of terror, but what if it was deception? Pure-bloods have been disdainful towards Mudbloods for over a millennium, but never before Voldemort did anyone bother to start their genocide. Do you know anything about Voldemort's actual plan? I've read that he wanted to become immortal."

"Yes, that was his obsession," Nott mumbled. "That is why he named his followers Death Eaters. I think he feared death, but made a show of despising it."

"Don't you see that there's something wrong about him? He wanted to become immortal, possibly succeeded, and wanted to kill all Mudbloods. Why? Why would an immortal wizard-god care if the magical blood became diluted? Such a thing should be beneath him."

"Perhaps…"

"Did he ever speak about Atlantis?" I pressed on. "You said there have been many scholars in your family. You probably have an extensive library?"

Nott glimpsed at me warily.

"Yes, after he reappeared, he asked to see whatever texts we have about Atlantis. He spent quite a while in our library, but he did not tell me about his research. It was Augustus Rookwood with whom he talked about all obscure pieces of magic and lore. I doubt he found much, because Atlantis is so shrouded in legends and speculation that it is probably impossible to discern any truths from the mess."

"The Department of Mysteries… I've been thinking that I'll pursue a job there after graduating. Mr Slughorn will certainly give me a letter of recommendation. Would you be willing to give one, too?"

"Certainly, but it is not easy to get a job there. I think they only recruit from within the Ministry, people who have been serving in another Department for at least five years."

_Five bloody years_, just to have the opportunity to steal a Time-Turner and whatever else there might be? It would be faster to just break in, even if I prepared with painstaking care.

"But the Ministry is known to make exceptions," Nott said. "Letters of recommendation will open some doors; giving pouches full of Galleons to the right people will open some other doors; your… shall we say… _Riddle-like_ talents – " he gave me a very sharp look " – will open some as well. All of them combined, absolutely. But you are in luck, because next school year you will have a rare opportunity to get valuable publicity too. Have you heard of the Triwizard Tournament?"

"In history books, yes. Are you saying they're coming back?"

It was intriguing, stupidly grandiose of course, but it was in my nature to grasp every opportunity.

* * *

One morning in August Harry came for a visit. He had been staying with the Weasleys after his birthday, but Dobby answered his calls and frequently Side-Along-Apparated him between The Burrow and Diagon Alley.

"Good morning, Tom," he said. "I thought you might like to know that my scar hurt last night after I had a dream about Voldemort."

"Really? When did that happen last time?"

"It was when I faced Voldemort when he was trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone, over two years ago. For a moment I thought he had come to The Burrow, but everything was all right."

"What was the dream about?"

"Well, here's the strange thing," Harry said and sat down, frowning slightly. "He was talking with Peter Pettigrew. They had killed someone, they planned to kill me, there was a huge snake, and an old Muggle… I dunno, it doesn't make sense."

"Dreams rarely do. Why would Voldemort have anything to do with Pettigrew? I think your mind just mixed various things together. But your scar hurting is troubling. Nothing is known about scars like yours, because normally the Killing Curse does not leave physical traces. But it seems there is some kind of a connection between you and Voldemort, something which causes the pain you experience."

"Do you think he's regaining his strength?"

"I know he is. There were ten years of total silence, then the Philosopher's Stone incident, then the reopening of the Chamber of Secrets. Who knows, perhaps Sirius Black's escape was his doings as well? Sooner or later he will find his way to true life again, and we must prepare for it."

"Yes, we must," Harry said, twirling his wand in his hands. "I'll use more time for training during the rest of the holidays. But not for a few days." His eyes lit up in enthusiasm. "The Quidditch World Cup final is in a few days!"

"I hope it'll be exciting," I said.

* * *

I really did hope the Quidditch World Cup final would be exciting, because when the day came, I found myself in the Top Box. It was a necessary inconvenience, just like the other social events. Tom Valedro was the most esteemed young member of the Slytherin high society, new favourite of Horace Slughorn, fabulously rich, leader of a group of Slytherin alumni, student leader of Slytherins at Hogwarts, recently appointed Head Boy, hopefully the winner of the coming Triwizard Tournament, soon a Hogwarts graduate with the best grades ever… I simply had to be seen in the Top Box with other important people. It was a part of the image that I hoped would give me a faster access to the Department of Mysteries.

Theodore Nott the Elder sat next to me, which was a good thing. He was not particularly interested in Quidditch either, and we could continue our conversation about Voldemort. A magical barrier around us muted the clamour of the stadium into muffled and easily disregarded noise, making the evening tolerable. But I still would not have agreed to come if I had not known that the Triwizard Tournament would mean the cancellation of the Hogwarts Quidditch Cup. This was probably going to be the last match I would have to endure.

The Weasley family was in the Top Box as well. They had not bought their tickets, but got them through Arthur Weasley's connections, but it still showed his infuriatingly bad sense of finance. He could have sold the tickets to richer people in exchange for cheaper tickets. But, of course, this kind of common sense should not be expected from a man who had wasted his windfall to a holiday trip to Egypt the previous summer.

Lucius sneered coldly at Mr Weasley, but Draco nodded politely to Harry who nodded with equal politeness in reply.

_Just the right amount of friendliness_, I thought.

The game itself was in a way even less interesting than Quidditch normally was. I felt detachment from the hundred thousand enthusiasts around me, because the Quaffle moved so fast it was difficult to process everything that was happening. The players certainly did a good job; their graceful aerobatics were beautiful in a way, and I thought by myself about how much of an advantage their talents would be in a battle.

The teams were from Ireland and Bulgaria. England, Scotland, and Wales had all performed poorly in their games, and once again I wondered why the tiny magical population of the British Isles was divided to the same four nationalities as the Muggle population. All wizards were educated at the same school, and they had one Ministry and one central hub in London. As they did not have any social or logistical limitations based on geography, it would have been natural if they had all merged into one nationality of British wizards.

The Irish players were really good, even I understood it with my limited knowledge of the game. They probably had totally dominated the Hogwarts Quidditch Cup during their school years. But why was it that the current players of the Hogwarts House teams were not as good? Did one have to graduate before one could become such a virtuoso?

These questions would remain unanswered for some time. Not that I was very interested about the answers anyway. I wanted to be alone and play the violin. That, at least, was a dignified pastime.

Luckily the game turned out to be short for a Quidditch game. The Bulgarian Seeker Viktor Krum caught the Snitch in a situation where the Irish team had a hundred and sixty point lead. That saved his team from a total humiliation; it was a kind of a ritual suicide to save their honour.

As the celebration began, I bid my farewells to the Notts, the Malfoys, and Harry and his friends, and Apparated to Diagon Alley. As I played a calm and quiet piece with the violin, I truly realized that Quidditch was over for me. It brought a smile on my lips.

* * *

The next morning dispelled all what remained of my good mood. The _Daily Prophet_ told a very gruesome and detailed story of a Death Eater attack in the aftermath of the game, the Dark Mark appearing after almost thirteen years, and numerous casualties.

I had wasted most of the summer integrating into the Slytherin high society, and now they showed their true colours. Yes, I had no doubt that Lucius and his friends had been the ones behind the Death Eater masks. Probably some of those younger ones whom I had invited to my house many times had participated in the vulgar revelry as well.

Insane or not, Voldemort had been right in at least one thing: these people needed to be kept in a tight leash. And the leash consisted of two parts: the Cruciatus Curse and the Killing Curse.

The first thing my future conspiracy would purge of unworthiness would be its own ranks.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore sat in the Headmaster's office, reading the report of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement with a frown. The situation was not as bad as the _Daily Prophet_ had written in order to increase its sales, but the news about Harry Potter's wand being used to conjure the Dark Mark was troubling.

Dumbledore turned to look at the chess board he kept on a side table. As Sirius Black had not been seen in months and Hogwarts had been secured during the summer, he moved one of the black bishops away from the white pieces. Then he moved all of the black pawns forward.

The black king stood alone in a corner.

* * *

Published on the 7th of April, 2020.


	27. The Watchful Eye

Chapter 27

THE WATCHFUL EYE

The rest of August was rather subdued in the Slytherin social circles, much to my relief. Those families who had aligned with Voldemort were embarrassed and frightened, and they stopped inviting guests without explanation. Everyone knew that they had been the ones causing havoc after the World Cup, but since no one had proof and they were important people, the Ministry was forced to let them be. Of the wealthiest Slytherin families only the Greengrasses continued normally; they had been neutral in the war, and they wanted to show that they had nothing to be embarrassed about. However, they were suddenly much more interested to socialize with the families usually considered non-Slytherin. Also Professor Slughorn seemed shaken, and his past as the Head of House Slytherin disappeared from his boasting repertoire.

I no longer invited any of the Slytherin alumni for meetings, but the other part of my conspiracy was alerted to the approaching storm. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Fred, and George came two days after the World Cup final, and told me everything that had happened. Remus was also present, and I realized that I was enjoying the company of these seven Gryffindors much more than that of my fellow Slytherins. So far my House had fallen!

Harry, Ron, and Hermione explained in detail their adventure in the forest, the appearance of the Dark Mark, and the discovery of Bartemius Crouch's house-elf with Harry's wand.

"The elf claimed she had picked the wand up?" I asked.

"Her name is Winky!" Hermione snapped fiercely for some reason. I waved my hand dismissively.

"But she was hit by a Stunning Charm mere moments after the Dark Mark appeared? And she was in the same direction as the voice that shouted the incantation?"

"Exactly so," Harry assured me.

"Then it is impossible for her to have picked the wand up after the Dark Mark was conjured. She must have been even closer to the supposed Death Eater than you were."

"She did act kinda strangely," Ron said in his usual confused tone. "I got the feeling she was trying to hide something."

"But what?" Harry asked.

"Her master, obviously," I said. "That is the only explanation that makes sense, though, admittedly, not much sense. Bartemius Crouch conjured the Dark Mark using a random wand he had Summoned, Disapparated, and then Apparated back with the other Ministry people. But he forgot to take the elf with him."

"Why would he have done it? Do you think he's a Death Eater?"

"You don't have to be a Death Eater to conjure the Dark Mark," I explained. "It's rare magic, yes, but Crouch certainly is familiar with it. He dedicated himself to the fight against the Death Eaters, and he was willing to turn any and all weapons of the enemy against them. Very unlike Dumbledore. As to why; there are many possible reasons. Perhaps he expected correctly that it would end the Death Eater attack. Or, more likely, he tried to lure the Death Eaters to the Dark Mark, tricking them into a trap. That's what I would've done."

"Crouch has many flaws, but you can't deny that he's a strong and capable leader," Remus said. "As Tom likes to point out, Dumbledore was quite careful during the war. Crouch was proactive, and many people thank him for saving Britain from Voldemort. The war would've been much more costly if he hadn't taken the Death Eaters seriously from the beginning."

"Well, I'm taking them seriously for sure," Harry said. "Let's practice some fighting, shall we?"

He drew out his wand and went to the room I had furnished for our fighting sessions. Hermione, who also had the right to practice magic under the supervision of Remus and I, followed him, along with Ron, Ginny, and Remus. The Weasleys could not participate, because their mother was quite vehement about keeping them out of trouble.

I stayed behind with the Weasley twins. Over the summer we had exchanged a few letters about the magical applications they had been studying for years.

"Here's the starting capital for your business," I said and tossed them a bag full of Galleons. "Keep creating pranks if you want – if you seem trivial, you will be underestimated. But I want you to create magical weapons. I've taught you my Triggered Firing Charm; perhaps you can use it inside a firework to fire a Blasting Curse."

The twins grinned mischievously.

"That would've been useful during the Death Eater attack," they said.

"More such occasions will be coming. We must be prepared. _Si vis pacem, para bellum_."

* * *

On the 1st of September my last trip to Hogwarts began. Even though I still had almost ten months left of staying in my favourite place on Earth, the thought unsettled me. I looked at the noisy flocks of students and their parents. They did not have to leave their homes for good.

"I remember when James had one like that," Remus said wistfully, pointing at my Head Boy badge.

"James Potter?" I questioned after resurfacing from my thoughts. "I thought he was quite the troublemaker. How did he become even a prefect?"

"He didn't, but he was the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain. In our sixth year he greatly improved his reputation, because he became better… no, not as a student, but in not getting caught. Maybe he wasn't a good choice for Head Boy, but the least bad. The boy prefects in our year… well, they were like me." Remus grimaced, but Harry grinned at the characterization of his father.

"I'll let you know when we have a Hogsmeade weekend," he said. "If I'm allowed to go this year, that is."

"Have a nice term, then," Remus said.

The Weasleys were bidding their farewells close by. The two oldest siblings were hinting about the Triwizard Tournament, and the younger ones were demanding answers. Shortly after everyone had boarded, the train began to move, and I headed to the first compartment for the prefect meeting. The trainful of students was now my responsibility. Failure would put an end to my plan of getting legal access to the Department of Mysteries. (I thought only very briefly that taking the students as hostages and demanding a Time-Turner as ransom might be a very effective way of getting what I wanted. However, such a plan would have had problems that outweighed the positive result.)

The new Head Girl was Pauline Ardrey of Hufflepuff; I knew her from Potions where we had cooperated every now and then. Our subordinates were the twenty-two prefects gathered into the compartment; it would be enough of them for me to delegate most of my duties to them. Every great leader delegated, and usually their subordinates were happy to do their work for them. It was a win-win situation.

Ardrey had, in a typical Hufflepuff fashion, written and rehearsed her speech in advance, making it sound memorized and feel sterile and emotionless. I, on the other hand, spoke without any guidelines in mind, and the audience seemed to welcome it. Later I could not remember what I had said.

Some students had not forgotten the threat of Sirius Black, and they feared that the madman might try to attack whoever he was after before we reached the safety of Hogwarts. It was not a totally groundless concern, and I spent most of the day watchfully walking back and forth the train. Looking out of the windows was of no use; water was pouring down from the sky, veiling everything in a grey blur. For a moment I imagined the grim form of Black standing by the railway, waiting for the train to come, water seeping through his clothes. If that was what he was really planning, there was little I could do. He would see the train long before anyone had any chance of spotting him, and he would probably easily blast the locomotive to pieces. Wet clothes, especially shoes, had a reputation of greatly amplifying the power channelled to Dark magic.

Thunder was rumbling when the Hogwarts Express stopped at the Hogsmeade station. I was the first one to step out, and greeted the Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt who was there with a group of Hit Wizards. They had searched the surroundings and found no signs of Black, but ushered the students to the carriages quickly. Hagrid led the first-years to the shore for the traditional boat ride across the Black Lake, a tradition so hallowed that not even the beastly weather was a good enough reason to cancel it.

I checked that the train was empty before boarding a carriage. I cast the Infrared Seeing Charm on myself so that I would be able to notice if Black was lurking among the trees. No blotches of warmth could be seen, until the carriages neared the gates to the grounds. Three massive forms blazing with infernal heat were positioned near the gates with dozens of tiny humans bustling around them. They were the dragons Minister Fudge had replaced the Dementors with. I could recognize them all: a Swedish Short-Snout, a Common Welsh Green, and a Hungarian Horntail. Each one of them was capable of gulping Black down for an appetizer – or a student, for that matter. But many people considered the Dementor's Kiss a fate more horrible than getting physically eaten, thereby the new guards were an improvement.

But finally I had seen Hogwarts as I had first imagined it: a mighty magical castle protected by dragons! Perhaps I should let the Basilisk loose again just to complete the picture…

As was fitting for the student leaders, Ardrey and I were the first ones to enter the Entrance Hall. Mr Filch was there, looking at our muddy shoes with sullen resignation; he did not greet us, but muttered to himself something about a never-ending nightmare. In a totally different mood was Albus Dumbledore who looked at us with a seemingly benevolent smile as he descended the marble staircase. He had probably spent decades mastering his acting so that he always seemed delighted when seeing his usually troublesome students arriving.

"Good evening, Pauline, Tom," he said. "I hope you had a pleasant summer. Sherbet lemon?"

He took a few yellow sweets from a pocket on his right hand's side and offered them to us.

"No thank you, sir."

He popped one of the sweets into his mouth and winked.

"I take it the journey was safe?"

"Yes, sir," Ardrey said.

"No signs of Sirius Black," I added. "By the way, I like the new guards."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.

"Dragons have keen eyes and snouts. Black will not sneak through them, I assure you."

_What about under them? _I thought to myself, deciding to place a few detection charms on the passageway from under the Whomping Willow to the Shrieking Shack. Dumbledore did not need to be informed about his forgetfulness or negligence; after I would catch Black (and let Harry practice the Dark Arts on him), I would tell everything to the Ministry and, hopefully, get Dumbledore sacked.

I sat down at the Slytherin table near the far end from the High Table; usually the oldest students occupied that end and the younger ones the other one, but there were some exceptions. Members of the most powerful families sat where they wished, and ever since my manipulative speech at the start of the previous year, they wished to sit around me. Draco's seat was on my right side, Theodore's on my left side, and in front of me sat Sara Jugson, Ethan's sister, a new prefect. All of them children of Death Eaters, but they were going to be my minions. Unfortunately, as the events in the Quidditch World Cup suggested, I probably had very limited time to form my conspiracy before I would get tough competition.

The first-year students were soon led inside, the Sorting Hat gave one of its nonsensical songs, and the Sorting took place. Once it was over, Dumbledore rose to his feet, but did not bother us with lengthy words, and the Start-of-Term Feast began.

Once the food had been eaten and the jingle of cutlery had been replaced with conversation, Dumbledore demanded our attention again for his traditional speech. He announced the best news ever, that there would not be Quidditch during the coming year. He was just going to tell us about the Triwizard Tournament that I had decided to win, when there was a rumble of thunder and the unrivalled master of timing and dramatic entries slammed open the doors to the Entrance Hall.

He was an old wizard with a long mane of grey hair. He swept between the House tables with speed and an air of alertness, and his peg leg clanked on the floor ominously. I did not have the time to study his face before he had gone past me, and with hundreds of other students I just stared at him as he approached Dumbledore who had went as silent as everyone else.

As the stranger turned to take his place at the High Table, I saw his face and realized in an instant who he was: Alastor Moody, one of the few Aurors who had lived long enough to retire. He had been the greatest warrior of the Order of the Phoenix in the war against Voldemort. While Dumbledore had done next to nothing for some reason, Moody had fought Death Eaters tirelessly and filled Azkaban with them.

The next instant my attention focused on his eyes, because there was a glaring difference to the pictures I had seen of him. One of his eyes was different: it rotated madly, but most of the time it was focused on me. I recognized the item. _The Eye of Vance_. With it, he could see right through my disguising charms; to him they only seemed like the feeblest way of concealing an identity. The most paranoid person in existence was at Hogwarts, and he knew I had something to hide. To what conclusion would he, in his Constant Vigilance, come? _That boy is Voldemort_, no doubt.

Moody talked briefly with Dumbledore before sitting down and starting to eat. Dumbledore nodded, took a sherbet lemon from a pocket on his left hand's side, popped it into his mouth, and turned to face the students again.

"May I present the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher," he said. "Professor Moody."

The announcement was met with silence, but Moody did not seem to care. He took a sip from his flask, but his magical eye did not rest; it moved with maddening speed, but always returned to stare at me. Even though the eye made me nervous, I dared to breathe again after hearing Dumbledore's calm voice. It appeared he was not going to attack me, and my frantic thoughts of summoning Dobby to evacuate me made room for confusion. Perhaps I would have time to assassinate this serious threat.

I really should have used non-magical means of altering my looks. Moody probably saw through hair dye and cosmetic contact lenses, but they did not draw his attention like magical disguises. But now it was too late. I would have to be Constantly Vigilant.

"As I was saying," Dumbledore continued his interrupted announcement, "this year Hogwarts will have the honour of hosting an event not arranged in over a hundred years: the Triwizard Tournament."

He popped another sherbet lemon into his mouth and proceeded to tell about the history of the Tournament and about Beauxbatons and Durmstrang whose delegations would be coming to Hogwarts. Numerous students got expressions of ecstasy on their faces when they imagined themselves as the winners of the Tournament. Moody's eye was not the only one that glimpsed at me when people were speculating who the Hogwarts Champion would be.

Dumbledore tapped a spoon against his goblet when he was beginning to lose the attention of his audience. He popped yet another sherbet lemon into his mouth before smiling and continuing.

"There is also another interesting piece of news. For some reason British witches and wizards lack the curiosity towards history that is so common in all other magical countries."

There was much muttering among the students. For everyone but Dumbledore the reason was obvious.

"However, to make things right, the Hogwarts staff has decided to expand the Trophy Room into a museum of magical artefacts. There will be several sections which present historical items from different parts of the British Isles. It will take time to collect items in such quantity that it will be sufficient for a museum, and so I implore you, dear students, to let your parents know that Hogwarts is willing to buy or rent historical items that are currently unused in your attics. For no particular reason the first section will present items which have history in Yorkshire."

All of a sudden, I was alert. Yorkshire… what a coincidence. I had just a few months ago visited my ancestral lands in Little Hangleton and found a historical item there. Well, I was not going to give one of my Horcruxes to a museum, especially one administered by Dumbledore, so no thank you.

"That will be all," Dumbledore said. "You must be brisk and rested when your lessons begin in the morning. Bedtime! Chop chop!"

Popping one more sherbet lemon into his mouth, he sat down and turned to speak to Professor Moody.

"Don't you think his addiction to sherbet lemons has got out of hand?" I asked Draco as we stood up.

"I hope he's suffering from an unstoppable disease and wants to use up his sweet storages before kicking the bucket," Draco replied with a sniff.

The House of Slytherin marched through the dungeons to the common room, the new students desperately trying to memorize all the twists and turns on the way. I checked the Marauder's Map and saw that Snape was not coming to speak to his House. In the thirties and forties Professor Slughorn had always welcomed his House members and the unofficial student leaders had also spoken every now and then, but these traditions had been abandoned during my absence. It was something to be corrected.

"Welcome to Slytherin," I said as the prefects had guided the first-years in the middle of the common room. "My name is Tom Valedro, and the duty of making sure you settle well in Salazar's House has befallen to me. Slytherin is a House of cunning and ambition, and for that reason many of the most powerful people in Britain throughout history have begun their journey to greatness in this very room. Slytherin has always been the least liked one in the other Houses, but that's no reason to accept it as the way of things. Let me give you this advice: at every moment you interact with the members of the other Houses, imagine yourself as the future Minister for Magic. You do not want to create a burden for yourselves by misbehaving at school."

The first-years looked quite nervous.

"You will meet people in this House whom you will not like," I continued. "Any and all quarrels will stay within Slytherin; we will present a unified front towards the other Houses. Perhaps you will make enemies here. But in that case keep in mind that wizarding Britain is small and the lifespan of wizards is long. Unless you're certain that you will be able to eliminate your enemies, you should be prepared to spend a hundred years or more with them in this tiny society. Most schoolyard feuds are not worth it. Lastly, I offer you the timeless wisdom of the founder of this House: _Anything can be an opportunity_. No matter how huge the disaster, someone always finds a way of profiting from it. It is a central trait of a real Slytherin to try to be that someone."

Many of my minions clapped as I headed to the dormitory of seventh-year boys.

* * *

The first breakfast of the year was very unpleasant as Moody's magical eye kept focusing on me. It was much more unnerving than even the glances of the shallow girls who had taken a fancy on my appearance. I waited nervously for the first Defence Against the Dark Arts class, hoping to somehow resolve the situation.

Defence was the one class that everyone studied after the OWLs, even those with a Troll grade. That was because most teachers were totally inept, and the Ministry wanted everyone to have two more opportunities of getting a decent teacher. Remus had been good, but everyone expected much more from a living legend like Moody.

And he did start promisingly: Unforgivable Curses and unembellished warning of the threat that wizards with bad intentions posed to us. Professor Merrythought had been soft compared to him. I wondered how much threats he had purposefully veiled in his lecture; he held no love for Slytherins, and his all-seeing eye scanned the whole class as if expecting an attack.

Once the bell rang, the seventh-year Slytherins left the classroom, both impressed and a little frightened by the attitude of the new teacher. I lagged behind, because I had decided that the tension caused by my disguising charms had to be released right then, before Moody informed Dumbledore about them, and I was not disappointed.

"Valedro," Moody grunted, "stay for a while." After everyone else had left the classroom, he turned the attention of both of his eyes to me. "Why the disguise?"

"I'm practicing Constant Vigilance, sir," I said. "I heard from a Ministry acquaintance of mine that you are the Defence Professor this year, and I decided to make a good first impression."

"Well, I'm not impressed," he informed me. "My eye sees through all disguising charms; in fact, I can see all such methods of subterfuge like bright spots of light."

"I wasn't aware of you possessing the Eye of Vance. You've acquired it after the war."

He gave a short bark of laughter.

"Well, everyone starts somewhere. I'm not expecting all students to be as well-prepared as I am, otherwise I wouldn't be here as a teacher. You, at least, show some level of competence, even if it's far too inadequate to fool me. Here's my hint for you, boy: if you want to disguise yourself, use Polyjuice Potion. It truly changes your form, and that's why not even my Mad Eye can notice anything."

"The downside is that you always have to keep drinking it," I noted.

"Aye, that is a problem," Moody said and took a sip from his flask. "There are no easy ways of keeping ahead of everyone else. That's why you need to be Constantly Vigilant and never stop learning new ways of defence. Hmph. Even though your disguise is far from perfect, I have to commend your safety precautions. You're wearing some kind of a protective vest, and you've reinforced it with the Unbreakable Charm and cast _lots_ of automatically activating Shield Charms. Very good indeed. And you're carrying Essence of Dittany, Blood Replenishing Potion, and a bezoar."

"I'm not a careless Gryffindor, sir," I said, grinning.

"Add a Bone Mending Potion, a Feather-Falling Potion, Gillyweed, and an emergency Portkey, and I'll give you an Acceptable grade," he told me. "You ain't getting an Exceeds Expectations from me, boy, because they can't be exceeded or even met."

I gaped at him.

"Off you go," he said and waved his hand towards the door.

I left the classroom, angry at myself for having forgotten the safety precautions he had mentioned, but at the same time relieved by the fact that Alastor Moody did not know what Voldemort had looked like in his school years.

Unless that was what he wanted me to believe.

* * *

Published on the 17th of April, 2020.


	28. Phantom Offensive

Chapter 28

PHANTOM OFFENSIVE

Professor Moody's curriculum turned out to be more intense than anything any student had ever experienced, even I, who had been taught by the competent Professor Merrythought. However, it was not more intense than my training sessions in the Kwikspell Company, and my Slytherin housemates witnessed just how effectively I put up a fight against Moody. As the word of these lessons spread, no one doubted that I would be judged the best student to represent Hogwarts in the Triwizard Tournament.

There was a shock when Moody announced that he would be casting the Imperius Curse on each student. Only I was confident, because I had a strong will, and resisting the curse was a branch of Occlumency, an art which I had successfully mastered. (I had taken a book about Occlumency from the library against the rules for my first summer at the orphanage, and I had used almost the entire summer practicing meditation. Protecting my mind from outside intrusion had been very high on my list of priorities, and the fear of Dumbledore had motivated me to an accomplishment unprecedented for a twelve-year-old.)

When it was my turn to be subjected to the Imperius Curse, I stepped forward to face Moody without trepidation. He seemed eager to see his most promising student fall victim to the curse like all the others, but when the curse struck me, I shrugged it off with a combination of will-power and clarity of mind.

"I don't say this often," Moody said after recovering from his shock, "I am impressed. You may have a great destiny as an Auror – or as an _entrepreneur_. You don't have aspirations of becoming a Dark Lord, do you?"

"Undoubtedly someone will consider me one," I mused. "It's impossible to please everyone."

"Well, if you decide to join _the_ Dark Lord, we will meet again one day," he warned me.

* * *

Moody's classes were not the only lessons of Defence Against the Dark Arts for me and a select few of other students. I continued to meet Harry and his friends in the Room of Requirement regularly, and as their skills increased, our fighting drills became rougher and rougher. Fred and George were determined to somehow trick their way into the Triwizard Tournament and practiced eagerly all kinds of methods they might use in the coming Tasks.

It was quite distressing how quickly my final autumn at Hogwarts passed. The last sunny and warm days were soon gone, and the usual almost perpetually rainy weather came in their stead. Thus it came to me as some kind of a surprise that the arrival of the delegations of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang was announced. Excitement about the Triwizard Tournament increased, and every day numerous Slytherins encouraged me to enter the Tournament, as if I was in any need of it.

Eventually it was the day before Hallowe'en, and all Hogwarts students had gathered in front of the front doors, waiting for our foreign guests. Beauxbatons was the first one to arrive with their carriage drawn by mighty winged horses. They were led by Headmistress Madame Maxime, easily the largest woman I had ever seen. Her students looked at the imposing silhouette of Hogwarts with visible apprehension; it certainly looked gloomy and dreary compared to the luxurious palace that the French wizards had built as a part of their boastful architectural competition with King Louis XIV.

The arrival of the Durmstrang delegation was more impressive: their magical ship emerged from the Black Lake, using some exclusive method of teleportation. Headmaster Igor Karkaroff, a former Death Eater who had been willing to buy his freedom by turning in his comrades, approached, and I could hear hostile muttering among the Slytherin students. I actually did not understand why they disapproved of Karkaroff's treacherousness. Betraying comrades to save one's own neck was a very Slytherin thing to do. Certainly Karkaroff was faring better as the Headmaster of Durmstrang than Augustus Rookwood as a prisoner of Azkaban.

Suddenly everyone noticed that among the Durmstrang students there was someone notable called Krum. The name was vaguely familiar to me, but as hundreds of conversations broke out about the Quidditch World Cup final, I remembered that he had been the Bulgarian Seeker. Apparently being the only successful player in the losing team had done miracles to his personal fame.

I led the Slytherin students to the Great Hall for the Welcoming Feast. The Durmstrang students decided after a short deliberation to sit at our table, and Krum sat down on the other side of Draco. He seemed not to be much of a conversationalist; it was as if he had not even heard Draco telling him about being the Seeker of the Slytherin Quidditch team. I would probably get along with him perfectly if there ever could be a possibility to – but there could not. How could two people who did not care about other people meet?

The other Durmstrang students were more talkative than Krum, and they soon warmed enough to tell us about their school. Apparently, it was a smaller and gloomier castle than Hogwarts, located on top of a hill in the middle of wilderness – but where this wilderness exactly was, that was something they refused to speak about. Their school had a long history of teaching the Dark Arts, and many of its alumni had gained reputation through the use of them. Grindelwald was the most famous among them even though he had never completed his education due to having been expelled because of his deadly experiments. After Grindelwald's defeat some of his fellow Durmstrang alumni had roamed around the world as magical criminals until Voldemort had recruited them. Karkaroff himself was one of them, and as it usually happened at Durmstrang, he had become the Headmaster by usurping his predecessor.

Hogwarts had two more visitors that day: Bartemius Crouch and Ludo Bagman had come from the Ministry to the opening of the Triwizard Tournament. Crouch ate in silence, looking bored, while Bagman had enough enthusiasm for the both of them.

Once Dumbledore started speaking after the plates had cleared, excitement in the Hall increased.

The Goblet of Fire was revealed. It was an old relic created to bind magical contracts, but for some reason it was no longer used for anything more important than selecting the Triwizard Champions. A babble of conversations broke out after Dumbledore told that the Goblet would be in the Entrance Hall until the Hallowe'en Feast the next day, and until then students old enough had the opportunity to enter their names.

"Now, Tom, enter your name!" Draco urged me.

"Yes, yes," I said and took out my quill and a piece of parchment. "This Tournament is not something I'm willing to miss."

A crowd had gathered around the Goblet of Fire as I exited the Great Hall. People were eyeing warily the Age Line Dumbledore had conjured around the Goblet, none brave enough to test what would happen to those too young trying to cross it. I stepped over the line without noticing anything at all, and put in the piece of parchment with my name on it.

"Good luck, Tom," Hermione called out. "I really hope you'll be selected. You represent inter-House unity, and that makes you the best possible Hogwarts Champion."

_Gullible_, I smirked, but said out loud, "Thank you, Hermione. Your faith in me means so much."

Such little words were enough to keep my Gryffindor minions convinced that I was a goodie, and I exchanged an amused look with Draco as we headed back to the common room.

* * *

Throughout the next day, I worried about the selection. While it was clear that I was the most qualified Hogwarts student, my superior magical talents might actually turn against me. The Goblet of Fire had to be very cleverly enchanted to be able to judge people by just their names. What if it wanted three Champions of equal level so that the Tournament would not be mere child's play for the most talented Champion?

The Goblet of Fire blazed in the Great Hall during the Hallowe'en Feast, making it difficult for many people to concentrate on anything but the approaching selection of Champions. I, on the other hand, suddenly realized that it was once again the Day of Calamity. Quirrell's troll, Chamber of Secrets, Sirius Black, and now this. As Dumbledore stood up, tossed a sherbet lemon into his mouth, put out most of the candles in the Hall, and directed everyone's attention to the Goblet, I tensed up. I felt an urge to check the Marauder's Map just in case there was an army of drunken Death Eaters preparing to storm the castle.

The Goblet of Fire spat out a red flame and a piece of parchment.

"The Champion of Durmstrang is Viktor Krum."

As the grumpy Quidditch star rose up from the other side of Draco, everyone applauded, except some of his fellow Durmstrang students who looked disappointed. I heard them muttering sullenly about Krum getting all the attention all the time. Dumbledore directed Krum through a door behind the High Table and popped another sherbet lemon into his mouth.

"The Champion of Beauxbatons is Fleur Delacour," Dumbledore announced after the Goblet of Fire had ejected the second piece of parchment. A girl of unnervingly perfect beauty left the Ravenclaw table and followed Krum out of the Hall.

"The Champion of Hogwarts," Dumbledore proceeded after the Goblet of Fire had returned the final name, "is Tom Valedro."

I took a deep breath. My concerns had been unfounded, and the outcome of the Tournament was thus doomed to be a foregone conclusion. But I would not have any regrets about ruining the excitement of this spectacle.

The applause was not particularly loud; few had expected anyone else to be selected. I smiled at my fellow Slytherins and gave an indistinct wave of my hand to the rest of the Hall. Then I joined the other Champions in the back chamber.

Viktor Krum and Fleur Delacour, they were whom I was to compete against. Krum was a Quidditch genius, but that did not mean he would be a total idiot like Bagman. Delacour was almost certainly a part-Veela, that was obvious from her looks. I thought it was probably a good idea to befriend both of them. A real mastermind always had associates abroad.

"Tom Valedro, of the House of Slytherin," I introduced myself. "Seventh-year, Head Boy of Hogwarts."

I shook their hands. Krum merely grunted something I interpreted as a greeting. Delacour smiled warmly at me, and I wondered if she planned of turning me into her puppet. Well, I was blessed with immunity to her special ability. In the Quidditch World Cup final the Bulgarian mascots had failed to affect me in any way, even to strain my Occlumency protection.

I was just listing in my mind the ways the Veela allure could be weaponized when I heard someone coming. To my surprise it was Harry.

"Tom," he said before I had the time to greet him, "the Goblet of Fire just returned my name!"

"_What?!_"

"I dunno how!" Harry claimed in apparent shock. "I didn't put my name in! This is again one of those things… you know… things like this always happen to me!"

At that moment we were joined by Ludo Bagman. He looked as baffled as the rest of us and tried to explain the situation to Krum and Delacour. He did not get far before the door was opened again and Dumbledore, Crouch, Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, McGonagall, and Snape burst into the room. Karkaroff was complaining to Dumbledore, who looked uncharacteristically annoyed.

"Please, calm down, everyone!" Dumbledore said as heated conversations erupted. "We will solve this situation with calmer minds. Would any of you like to have a sherbet lemon?"

He took a handful of the sweets from a pocket on his right hand's side and offered them to us. That gesture of hospitality did nothing to improve the mood, and Karkaroff huffed angrily. Even I had to wonder about Dumbledore's lack of discretion in the situation. As no one took the sweets, the Headmaster shrugged, put them back into his pocket, and then took a sherbet lemon from a pocket on his _left hand's side_ and popped _that one _into his mouth.

If I had not had so many other things to think about, I would have been really intrigued. This all but proved that Dumbledore had spiked his sweets with something!

After that brief episode the argument resumed. Karkaroff and Madame Maxime were furious that Hogwarts was getting two Champions, Snape accused Harry, and even Dumbledore questioned him. No one seemed to realize that it was an assassination attempt before Moody stepped into the chamber and brought some common sense into the debate.

"It's a binding magical contract," the old Auror reminded us. "Someone put Potter's name into the Goblet of Fire knowing that he would have to compete if the name was returned. But before you accuse Potter of doing it, remember that the Goblet is a very powerful magical item. To make it forget that there are only three schools in the Tournament requires a very powerful Confundus Charm, far beyond the capabilities of any student."

"Wait a minute," I interrupted. "Are you saying that you can create a binding magical contract to anyone without their knowledge by simply writing their name on a piece of parchment and putting it in the Goblet?"

"So it appears," Dumbledore said and popped a sherbet lemon into his mouth.

"What exactly happens if Mr Potter does not compete?" I asked. "What are the consequences of breaking such a binding magical contract?"

"That is somewhat unclear," Crouch said in his monotonous voice. "Breaking the contract may result in losing magical powers or losing life."

"You might be able to kill someone in that way?!" I said incredulously.

_Note to self_, I thought. _Steal the Goblet of Fire at the earliest convenience. Then cast a Confundus Charm on it, put in the names of all people I want to die, and enjoy the show_.

"Once the Goblet of Fire returns the name of a student, that student has to compete," Crouch said. "There is no other option."

I was just going to suggest that Harry would do something that would lead to disqualification at the start of each Task, but then my Slytherin instinct kicked in. _Anything can be an opportunity_. If I helped Harry to survive this Tournament, he would be even more indebted to me.

"This is preposterous," Karkaroff growled. "I'm going to appeal to the Ministry of Magic and the International Confederation of Wizards…"

"You really think this is just a prank?" I asked coldly.

The Durmstrang Headmaster looked at me, infuriated by my tone.

"I see your deranged Defence Professor has filled your head with – "

"Just because he caught you and sent you to Azkaban, you shouldn't disregard – "

"Silence! Don't speak to me like that, boy! There's no reason whatsoever for me to believe – "

"Voldemort!" I snarled, making him jump in sudden terror. "Do I have to remind you of what has happened in these recent years? Three years ago Professor Quirrell tried to steal the Philosopher's Stone, and if the rumours I've heard are true, he did it for Voldemort. The next year the Chamber of Secrets was reopened, and again it was Voldemort who was behind it. Gilderoy Lockhart, one of the greatest heroes of this century, had to give up his life to stop him!"

That brought tears to Madame Maxime's eyes.

"A little over a month later Sirius Black escaped from Azkaban, being the first one ever to accomplish in it. I'd wager he had outside help. The Ministry of Magic is convinced that he's after Mr Potter here, and placed a hundred Dementors around Hogwarts. Black still managed to enter this castle twice, and even assaulted Mr Potter's dormitory. And there's still more. Death Eaters were on rampage after the Quidditch World Cup final, and the Dark Mark reappeared. Now Mr Potter is forced to participate in a dangerous competition! Do these incidents seem isolated to you?"

Karkaroff spluttered something, both angry at my lack of respect towards him and taken aback by my undeniable arguments.

"Considering this context, today's incident seems very clear to me," I concluded. "Sirius Black has once again entered this castle undetected. After failing in his blunt attempts at Mr Potter's life, he came up with something new. He hopes this Tournament will be the end of Mr Potter."

"I agree with everything Mr Valedro just said," Moody grunted. "Good to know I'm not the only one who has his eyes open."

No one had any counterarguments. Dumbledore and McGonagall had listened to me intently, and Snape's sneer had been replaced by a thoughtful frown as he nodded slowly. Crouch was expressionless; I had probably said out loud his thoughts too. Ludo Bagman had become nervous, and he glanced around as if fearing that Black might be watching us from one of the shadowy corners and preparing to attack.

"Director Crouch is right," Dumbledore said and popped a sherbet lemon into his mouth. "It seems we have no other option but to let Harry compete, but to do everything else we can to keep him safe. If Black really is behind this, he has cleverly forced us into a situation where there are no good and easy options."

"Why was Beauxbatons not informed about a murderer going around 'Ogwarts?" Madame Maxime asked with her eyes squinted.

"We have no proof that he has been here since March," Dumbledore said. "I assure you, Black seems to want to prevent causing collateral damage. If he has chosen the Tournament as his way of attacking Harry, it is unlikely that he would resort to such blunt methods as the assault on Gryffindor Tower. Your students will be safe."

"I 'ope I could believe you," she sniffed.

"Well," Bagman said in a slightly quivering voice as he stepped forward, "I reckon we should give the instructions to the Champions. Barty, if you would?"

Crouch, who looked as bored and indifferent as an Inferius, gave a short lecture in a voice as monotonous as that of Professor Binns'. He looked extremely stressed; he had probably worked day and night after the World Cup final to discover the truth about the Dark Mark. I sadly reminisced of the determined young man who had made such a good impression on me on my very first day at Hogwarts. Bartemius Crouch the Head Boy had been in many ways more formidable than he was as one of the most powerful officials in Britain. One could see a parallel to Tom Riddle the Head Boy versus Voldemort the Dark Lord.

"Are you sure you would not want to stay at Hogwarts for the night?" Dumbledore asked, popping a sherbet lemon into his mouth.

Crouch declined, insisting that he had work to do at the Ministry. Madame Maxime and Karkaroff left sullenly with their Champions, and Dumbledore dismissed Harry and me.

"Tom, this is getting serious," Harry said as we walked across the empty Great Hall. "Not to mention insane! Black sneaking into Gryffindor Tower is one thing, but… this is different. If he can concoct and implement a plan like this… it shows creativity."

"I agree," I said, studying the Marauder's Map. "I can't see him anywhere. He must've found some new way to Hogwarts, because none of the detection charms I placed on the secret passages have triggered or been dispelled. This does not bode well. I suggest you start carrying your father's invisibility cloak with you at all times."

"Yeah… but I'm worried about the Tasks. I don't think I'm up to the challenge."

"Don't worry, I'll help you," I promised. "We may be competing against one another, but in this war we stand together. Black has made this Tournament a part of the war, and we adapt."

"Thanks. Good thing you've taught me so much ahead of the curriculum."

"Let's meet tomorrow in the Room of Requirement, and we'll get to the really advanced stuff. I'll have Dobby bring us books about the historical Tournaments, and we can simulate their Tasks and devise successful strategies for them."

"Sounds good. See you."

We parted in the Entrance Hall. I was deep in my thoughts as I navigated through the dungeons to the Slytherin common room.

The Slytherins welcomed me to the common room with applause. They were very happy that a Slytherin had become the Champion of Hogwarts as it was a good opportunity for us to remind the other Houses that we too were members of the Hogwarts community, not just next door neighbours. This was also the reason why they were indignant about Harry becoming the fourth Champion.

"How do you think he managed to arrange this?" Draco asked me.

"I don't think he did. Moody made quite a good point about the Goblet. No student should be skilled and powerful enough to Confund it so that it forgets the rules. He believes, and so do I, that this is some kind of an assassination attempt. Sirius Black has struck again."

"The Gryffindors will use this as an opportunity to undermine your status as a Hogwarts Champion. We'll be considered outsiders, just like our foreign guests."

"Be that as it may," I shrugged. "When one door closes, another one opens. You know what they say: a friend in need is a friend indeed. I want the House of Slytherin to be wholeheartedly supporting Potter. Many people will treat him as a pompous, attention-seeking braggart, especially Snape. We will not. To us, he'll be a victim of an insidious plot. Is that clear?"

"It is clear!" my two hundred minions said and saluted.

I celebrated with the other Slytherins for fifteen minutes before retiring to my dormitory. There I checked the Marauder's Map again. Harry was in the middle of a huge crowd on Gryffindors in their common room, but both Hermione and Ron were in their dormitories. I wondered if they disapproved of Harry's supposed new demonstration of foolhardiness.

Black was still nowhere in or around Hogwarts, but there was one thing that drew my attention. Even though Crouch had claimed he needed to return to the Ministry, he had found his way to Moody's office where the two of them were undoubtedly having a grim discussion. If two of Britain's most obsessed anti-Dark wizard people were having a secret meeting, they had to be preparing for the worst. And it was delightful to notice that they were excluding Dumbledore from it; the Headmaster was about to enter his office, oblivious to Crouch's continued presence at Hogwarts.

As I lay down in my bed, I thought about the First Task which would take place in less than four weeks. It would be folly to face the challenge without the best possible precaution. I had postponed the moment I would try to bind the three Horcruxes to me for too long, but soon the situation would be corrected.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore returned to the Headmaster's office and conjured a glass of water. He had eaten so many sherbet lemons that their sour flavour was beginning to nauseate him.

He looked at the chess board. If it was true that Black had somehow orchestrated this new offence against Harry Potter, the black bishop representing him needed to be placed again nearer the white pieces.

The black pieces had been on the move after the Azkaban breakout, and despite being the underdogs, they had been able to claim the momentum. The row of black pawns was ready to step forward again.

The black king stood alone in a corner.

* * *

Published on the 2nd of May, 2020.


	29. The Secret of the Chamber

Chapter 29

THE SECRET OF THE CHAMBER

I probably should have kept quiet about my realization of how to use the Goblet of Fire to eliminate or at least incapacitate anyone I wished, because the Goblet was quickly hidden or taken away from Hogwarts. And I had alerted Dumbledore to the unaccustomed power of the Goblet. I hoped it would not return to haunt me one day. However, it was possible I had overestimated the Goblet's suitability as a weapon. Surely I could not be the only one ever to think about it, but still no one had used it as a weapon. Perhaps that meant my plan might not work after all.

Harry was on a bad mood when he came to the Room of Requirement the day after Hallowe'en. He explained that almost all Gryffindors believed he had entered his name to the Goblet of Fire himself, even Ron. The youngest of the Weasley brothers, who had lived in the shadows of other people all his life, was ready to endanger his friendship with Harry over such a petty reason as the Triwizard Tournament.

"Well, at least this helps you see who your true friends are," I said slyly, only barely managing to suppress a mischievous smirk. "Ron is heroic enough when it comes to stopping Voldemort from stealing the Philosopher's Stone or saving his own sister, but when you're in trouble all by yourself, he abandons you. Oh, how vehemently you defended his virtuous nature when I told you how your father was betrayed to death by the very person he believed to be his best friend."

"Ron is a stupid brat," Harry said, "but a betrayal like that of Black's… no, I don't believe he'd do anything like it, ever."

"He's young, and his spite and envy will only grow in time," I claimed. "Who knows, if he thinks he can grow out of his role as a sidekick only by pledging himself to a Dark cause, he may do so. No, not Voldemort necessarily. Dark Lords come and go, and none of them is like the previous one. They all deceive the weak, the gullible, and the bitter in new and imaginative ways." _As I've done to you_. "Every time some of those who believe to be immune to the manipulations of the Dark Lord fall to his trap and realize their error only when it's far too late."

"Ron will come around when we solve the truth about this mess," Harry said. "I hope."

"Let's hope he'll be able to learn something from his mistakes. I wouldn't like to have a friend whose judgement I couldn't trust."

We proceeded to study the Tasks of the historical Triwizard Tournaments. Usually there had been Tasks involving dangerous magical creatures, hostage situations, basic problem solving with potions and Transfiguration, retrieving a prize, and flying – basically anything which could be solved by applying skills taught at school. To me they seemed ridiculously easy.

"You know, there is a skill of mind magic that allows you to read minds," I said. "I could dig up all the details about the Tasks from the mind of that idiot Bagman. It would be unfair, yes, but forcing you to participate is not fair, either."

"Is that legal?" Harry asked.

"It's very strictly illegal, but… the end justifies the means."

"You can do that?"

Suddenly I realized I was skating on thin ice.

"I could try," I said. "I've never had the opportunity to practise. And it's very difficult. Er… yeah, it's probably best to forget that plan. Literally. _Obliviate_."

After Harry's mind had been cleared of all knowledge of my dubious skills, we practised some spells normally taught to fifth-year students. I was careful not to exhaust myself, because I had to be ready for a much more important part of preparing for the First Task – and any other dangers I would ever face, for that matter.

* * *

No one questioned it when the Head Boy exited the Slytherin common room after curfew. I was almost as nervous as when I had begun the ritual to turn my diary into a Horcrux. I had made all preparations I could think of, and soon I would be _immortal!_ The binding of Voldemort's Horcruxes had to take place in the Chamber of Secrets, the most secure of places.

I entered the girls' bathroom, opened the entrance, and flew down on my Firebolt. After landing in the tunnel, I said,

"Dobby."

No response. Either the elf was incapable of answering my summons, which was unlikely, or then the Chamber of Secrets was warded against the house-elf version of the Apparition spell. If the latter, I could not have been the first one ever to understand the deficiency in the commonly used magical security measures.

I flew back to the bathroom, and called again,

"Dobby!"

_Crack_.

This time the elf appeared before me as usual.

"Master Tom, sir! Dobby sensed Master Tom calling Dobby, but Dobby was unable to come! Dobby is deeply sorry, Master Tom, sir!"

"Don't worry about it, I was just testing the Anti-Apparition Ward. Bring me the three items."

"Yes, Master Tom, sir!"

Dobby vanished with a _crack_, was gone for a few second, then reappeared with another _crack_, and carried Ravenclaw's Diadem, the mysterious ring I had found in Little Hangleton, and Slytherin's Locket. I had diagnosed and tested them with every method I could imagine, and they seemed to be safe to handle, at least physically. I touched them myself for the first time, and did not suffer any curse. The only strange thing I could feel was the resonance of my fellow soul fragments with myself.

"Dismissed," I said, and Dobby Disapparated. I mounted the Firebolt again and returned to the Chamber of Secrets.

Once in the main hall, I summoned the Basilisk, and gave my instructions to it. I had planned two different command words for it; upon hearing the first one, the Basilisk was to try to break my contact with the item I was working with; upon hearing the second one, it was to bite the item with a venomous fang. Destroying a Horcrux was something I absolutely did not want to do, but it was best to be prepared to do it anyway. In case the soul fragments in the items turned out to be stronger than myself, I needed to have something fatal to threaten them with. If binding Voldemort's Horcruxes to me turned out to be impossible, the items would be useless to me, and their destruction would not be much of a loss.

I had decided to start with the ring. If I was correct, the ring had been turned into a Horcrux during Voldemort's sixth year at Hogwarts. That would mean the soul fragment inside was just some months older and more skilled than I had been when being trapped, and after breaking free I had had a year and a half to gain new skills, experiences, and power. It should be the easiest one to overpower.

But then perhaps not. What I was about to experience would most likely be some kind of battle of souls. If creating a Horcrux ripped the soul into two pieces of equal size, I, the first Horcrux created, had to be much stronger than any of the other ones. If the ring was the second one, it contained a quarter of my original soul, and the Diadem and the Locket even less. Then perhaps they would be easier to defeat.

I still decided to try with the ring, because at least it was weaker than I in two different ways.

The very first thing I did was to cast a specific Horcrux Analyzing Charm on each of the three. Its purpose was to examine whom the Horcrux was bound to. As I had expected, Voldemort's Horcruxes did not anchor me to the mortal world, and so I had to try the unprecedented: changing the master soul.

I sat down on the floor, looked up to the face of Salazar Slytherin, and took a very deep breath. Then I looked down to the ring I held on my palm. Closing my eyes, I reached towards it with my magic and cleared my mind with the meditation I had practiced in order to become an Occlumens. But this time I wanted to have a mental connection with another entity.

It felt quite similar to my attempt to change the course of Voldemort's curse of the Defence professorship, but instead of the flow of magic I sensed another human being as though through Legilimency. I sensed him so closely that I felt a strong impulse to take a step back. I also got a strong feeling of kinship; we were so alike.

The next instant I realized how mistaken I had been about souls. They were not material things that could be sliced like bread, and it had been sheer idiocy to think I had more soul than some other Horcrux. Creating a Horcrux was more comparable to the fission of a cell: both results of division were complete and entirely functional. But they still were _meant_ to be together: splitting the soul was a violation of nature, and it caused severe mental instability, just as I had realized when studying Voldemort's actions.

What I felt was a sorry, bitter, and outright pathetic copy of myself. A series of indistinct memories flashed in my mind; I could recognize some of them, because I had experienced them too, but there were also memories of those events that had happened after the creation of the diary Horcrux. Returning to London, and the horrible apathy of the orphanage; travelling to Little Hangleton, meeting with the last Gaunt and the murders of the Riddles; returning to Hogwarts; some of the fits of rage Nott had told me about; the long-awaited discussion with Professor Slughorn about multiple Horcruxes; the ritual to turn the ring into the second Horcrux; and countless others, mainly moments of boredom and frustration.

As I faced this other Tom Riddle who was already a slightly twisted version of me, I could sense something like a bright and searing light originating in me. It felt so familiar that I could easily give it a name: Ginny. I was not sure if there really was a fragment of her soul integrated into me, or if it was just her influence, but it gave me a tremendous advantage over the ring Horcrux. Souls had no size that could be measured, but souls had individual strengths, and it was not a fixed amount. Every experience and surpassed challenge made the soul stronger, and through Ginny I had been able to overcome many of my weaknesses.

The soul fragment in the ring, on the other hand, was so drenched in misery that I was no longer at all afraid of him harming me. I felt his confusion when meeting another soul after so many decades of hibernation in the eternal dark silence, and I almost felt pity towards him. But I could not afford such feelings. I gathered my superior strength of character and slammed it against him. He let out a metaphorical scream of humiliation; it was not in any Tom Riddle's character to yield to the power of someone else, but there was nothing he could do.

The ensuing battle was not like a wizard's duel, but rather a staring contest; two wills trying to assert dominance over the other one. It was like my first meeting with Dumbledore, but this time I was the one with the upper hand. I kept beating the other Tom until nothing remained of his defiance. Then I created spiritual bonds and shackled him; there were no words to describe the exact details even if I had had some idea of what it was about. Again, I relied on intuition, hoping for a better result than the fiasco with Voldemort's curse.

Eventually I emerged from the meditation and saw the Chamber of Secrets again. The feeling of resonance with the ring seemed to have become stronger. I eagerly cast the Horcrux Analyzing Charm on it again, and felt a strong burst of triumph: it was now my Horcrux, bound to me and me alone. Finally, I was immortal!

_Take that, Death!_ I bragged in my mind.

It had not even been difficult; I could have had it done the day I had found the ring.

I proceeded to do the same to the Diadem and the Locket. The souls within were in a much worse shape than the one in the ring; Voldemort's insanity had developed with frightening speed. They were filled with rage, bitterness, and utterly twisted pride. Wielding the bright light of Ginny I subjugated them with ease.

I looked at my three anchors of immortality. For so long I had cursed the fate of being locked in the diary, but only now I truly understood the much more horrible fate I had escaped. Creating Horcruxes was considered an abomination for a very good reason.

But now I was immune to the power of Death! And without losing my sanity! Grinning wider than ever, I stuffed the ring into one of my pockets, the Diadem to another, and held the Locket aloft, as if handing it to the statue of my ancestor. I was the Heir of Slytherin, I was in the Chamber of Secrets, and I had the Locket of Slytherin. Proudly I hung the chain around my neck and gently placed the Locket on my chest…

And at that exact moment something happened.

Light flowed into the Chamber from an unseen source. The faint feeling of ambient magic that reverberated everywhere in and around Hogwarts increased tenfold, making my own magic resonate quite violently. Then the mighty statue of Salazar came to life, the rock somehow moving fluidly. Bright lights ignited in his eyes, and he looked down at me, his descendant.

"_You have found my Chamber of Secrets and brought the heirloom of my family with you_," Salazar hissed in Parseltongue. "_I greet you, child. If you so desire, it is time for you to learn the secret of this Chamber._"

All triumphant thoughts of immortality had disappeared from my mind. Instead, I was experiencing a moment of terrified disorientation, not lesser than the one I had felt when Dumbledore had set my wardrobe of fire.

"_Are – are – are you the real Salazar?_" I finally managed to hiss. "_Or a Horcrux, perhaps?_"

Salazar did not reply. He just stared down, not moving anymore. Some of my distress lifted. It was not Salazar Slytherin that I tried to communicate with. More likely the statue was similar to the countless portraits all around Hogwarts: they contained memories of those they portrayed as well as some semblance of their personality and had a limited ability to interact with the outside world.

"_I am Salazar Slytherin's heir_," I said. "_Did he leave a message for me?_"

"_I imbued this statue with important memories and information before I left Hogwarts_," Salazar spoke through a thousand years. "_Only my descendant who carries my Locket is worthy of hearing my words. Know this, child: I did not dare to share this information even with the other Founders of Hogwarts. My secret was too heavy a burden for me to carry. Do you want to continue my quest knowing that the burden would be yours to carry?_"

I gulped.

"_I will carry your burden, whatever it is._"

"_Then look down, child._"

I had been craning my neck to see the face of the statue, and had not noticed that glowing silver markings had appeared around the place where I stood. They formed a strange yet familiar symbol: a line, inside a circle, inside a triangle. After a brief moment of contemplation I realized that it was the symbol Grindelwald had used every now and then. Apparently, he had not designed it himself, but copied an ancient symbol from somewhere else.

"_See my memories, child,_" hissed Salazar's voice, and I noticed wisps of white mist rising from the symbol. It was some kind of a Pensieve, and as the mist surrounded me, I began to see and hear parts of Salazar's life from a thousand years past.

I saw a young man walking across a meadow towards a pastoral village, brisk, cheerful, and optimistic. If I had not known to look for similarities, I would not have recognized him as the same old man whose features had been immortalized in the statue in the Chamber of Secrets. However, there was one other thing which made it easy to guess his identity: several snakes were following him, hissing affectionately.

"_I was taught in the magical arts by the village mages of Castile_," Salazar's voice narrated the story behind the memory. "_Before the founding of Hogwarts there were not any organized institutes for magical education. Masters taught apprentices. Some wizard children did not have true opportunity to refine their skills and powers. I was luckier than many, because in Iberia Christendom was in a constant war against the infidels of Córdoba. Every young witch and wizard was given the best possible training to give us an advantage in the war._"

There were several memories of Salazar's training. Battle Magic had been central in it, and his teachers were people who would have been considered Dark witches and wizards in the contemporary age. Salazar had excelled; he had clearly had the same knack as I had in the magical arts.

"_After I had surpassed my teachers, I was sent to meet other wizards and convince them to join the fight. I met with the Arch Wizard of the West, Pope Benedict VII, and continued to Constantinople to meet the Roman Emperor Basil II. On the way I visited Delphi in order to learn of the future from the Oracle. But my quest of preparing for war ended that day, because I realized Fate had a much more important purpose for me. Immediately after facing me the Oracle went into a trance and spoke the prophecy that forever changed the course of my life._"

The vision showed the same young man, though fully adult now, stepping into the former Temple of Apollo, the seat of the Oracle. Salazar remembered the day with crystalline clarity, and the words of the Oracle retained their ominous tone and echo. Even though the words were not chanted in either of the languages I knew, Salazar's memory somehow allowed me to understand their meaning.

"_The Dark Lord will rise  
through force and deception.  
Though born to those without magic,  
he will command a might never seen before,  
a might granted by three devices of power.  
He will unleash Death into the world  
and rediscover the lost power of  
the fabled Sunken Empire."_

I barely had time to fathom any of the massive implications of the prophecy before Salazar continued his tale.

"_Afterwards I discussed with the Oracle for a long time. One thing is clear about the otherwise unpredictable art of Divination: prophecies are spoken to those who will have some role in fulfilling or averting them. Fate itself had given me the responsibility to prevent Death from being unleashed, and so I abandoned the meaningless task of gathering an army for the crusade against Córdoba. With the burden of the prophecy as my constant companion, I travelled far and wide, made friends and allies, gathered scrolls of knowledge, learned new skills… all that I did to prepare for the rise of the Dark Lord._"

I saw visions of Salazar's travels. Constantinople, ruins of the Labyrinth of Knossos, Antioch, Jerusalem, Alexandria, the Pyramids of Egypt, Axum and Lalibela in Ethiopia, the House of Wisdom in Baghdad, and several sites in Persia, India, and what I assumed was Southeast Asia.

"_I saw lands that have no names in Christendom, I gathered magical plants unknown to any of my teachers, I learned more lore than any wizard alive, and I befriended a Basilisk in a jungle where no man had dared to set foot in generations. Day by day my power grew, but I knew it was not enough for the quest that Fate had given me. Eventually I headed home. I had not found Atlantis, but some of the hints I had heard suggested that I had been searching in the wrong direction all along. In England there was a mysterious place. It was said that the Romans had established their settlement Londinium near an underground shrine which had been protected by an ancient brotherhood of wizards._"

I knew what Salazar was about to show me before the next vision formed. The dark underground hall with a stone archway in the middle, and the tattered Veil rippling constantly even though there was no breeze. Salazar, an old man now, approached the archway carefully, and I saw briefly what was behind the Veil. The horrible and glorious being of pitch black hair, pearly white skin, and glowing red eyes was standing just on the other side, as if waiting for the right moment to step through. There was a faint smirk on his face – and then he looked straight at me, as if he was not just a part of Salazar's memory, but present in the very moment when I saw the visions. As my uneasiness grew, his smirk widened.

"_There were many rumours of the Unspeakables, __even that Merlin himself had been their grandmaster,__ but they neither confirmed nor denied them. They were totally sworn to their servitude, whatever it was. They allowed me to see the Veil, supposedly an Atlantean relic, but they shared no information with me. I went on my way, and began to fight those Dark wizards who had the potential to become the Dark Lord mentioned in the prophecy._"

The vision around me changed and showed many battles and heroic moments.

"_Emeric the Evil was a vile robber who had gained an incredible amount of power in very short a time. His old teacher Egbert the Esteemed asked for my help in stopping him. Egbert had been superior in power and skill to Emeric, but that had changed for a reason he did not know. He could only assume it had something to do with Emeric's fascination with the research of the late Peverell brothers. We fought Emeric, but were unable to defeat him, somehow he always got the upper hand. We grew desperate, and eventually Egbert decided to murder his former pupil. Whatever it was that had made Emeric invincible in battle, it did not protect him from Basilisk venom put into his goblet. Egbert did not want to be remembered as a murderer, and asked all his friends and allies to claim he had defeated Emeric in a duel. Later I heard that Egbert had fallen to evil as well. Dark wizards were so numerous that I began to plan better approaches to the problem._"

I saw Salazar and his Basilisk – the same Basilisk that I could sense somewhere behind the vision – trudging wearily on a muddy road; the contrast to the first memory was so striking that it was depressing.

"_I began to feel the weight of age, and decided that I could no longer carry the burden alone. I sired an heir who inherited my ability to speak with snakes, but soon I understood it would not be enough. That was when I met three of my old friends who were among the greatest witches and wizards of Christendom. Together with Rowena Ravenclaw, Helga Hufflepuff, and Godric Gryffindor I established a school of magic. We would give equal opportunities for all young witches and wizards, and I hoped they would be of help in my quest. In northern Scotland we found a powerful nexus of magic beneath some old ruins, and decided to build our own stronghold over them. I hoped Hogwarts would be the last defence against the foretold Dark Lord, and used the powers flowing through the nexus to create the mightiest wards known to the world. That was how Hogwarts was created. But there was soon a dispute between me and the other Founders._"

The visions showed the familiar mountains, the valley, and the lake, and the construction of the castle I called home. The Great Hall had been smaller then; perhaps it was able to change its size according to how many students there were. Salazar, Rowena, Helga, and Godric stood in the middle of the Hall, debating heatedly.

"_My fear of the prophecy was fierce_," Salazar said mournfully. "_The words "born to those without magic" troubled me, and I was convinced they meant that the Dark Lord would be a Muggle-born. That was why I did not want Hogwarts to teach any such students, thus to eliminate the threat of Death being unleashed. But I did not dare to reveal my true reason. If the prophecy became known, many Muggle-borns might want to become the Dark Lord, thus making the prophecy come true. The other Founders did not agree with me, and I formed a contingency plan. I made this cavern the home of my Basilisk, hoping to stealthily rid the school of the future Dark Lord. This quest, saving the world from Death, is the great purpose of my lineage, and you have now inherited it, child._"

The vision faded away, and I saw the statue of Salazar once again, staring grimly down at me.

"_I found a magical design from a side cavern_," I hissed. "_I believe it is some kind of foundation of a curse. What is its purpose?_"

"_I tapped into the nexus of magic_," Salazar explained. "_All these years some of the power has been redirected to a reservoir under this Chamber. It is a trap I laid. All that power will be turned against the Dark Lord if need be. The fate of the world is in your hands, child. Always remember the words I told all my pupils: the last enemy that shall be destroyed is Death_."

With that, the light in the eyes of the statue of Salazar went out, the statue returned to its previous shape, the symbol disappeared from the floor, and the strong feeling of ambient magic lessened.

I felt exhausted and overwhelmed.

So, Salazar Slytherin had not been a blood-purist. Perhaps the whole blood purity dogma was based on incorrect interpretation of his view. It seemed likely; early members of the House of Slytherin had wondered why the Founder of their House had not liked Muggle-borns, and then they had come up with an explanation that propped their sense of self-worth. Magical nobility, of course… a reason for them to think themselves better than others even if they lacked power and talent. How un-Slytherin!

I sent the Basilisk back to its nest to slumber, and took my leave from the Chamber. I stuffed the Locket into a pocket as well, barely remembering that I had just become immortal. Somehow I doubted whether Horcruxes were a foolproof precaution against unleashed Death.

Salazar had been troubled by the prophecy, but a millennium had passed without Death being unleashed. Yet the prophecy had been told to him, so there had to have been some role for him in the events foretold by the Delphic Oracle.

Unless, of course, Salazar had heard the prophecy so that I could hear the prophecy through his memories. Was the quest meant for me all along? I certainly would take the quest seriously, because I had an intimately horrible knowledge of what would happen if I failed. When I had fainted on the Hogwarts Express before my sixth year, I had seen a vision of the world conquered by Death, and it had made me accept the profound influence Ginny had had on me – the influence I had just before used to subdue three fellow Tom Riddles.

But more importantly, who could be the Dark Lord who would be born to those without magic? My father had been a Muggle, and my mother, who had married a Muggle, had not been able to save herself from death after giving birth to me… perhaps she had been a Squib? If so, Voldemort and I were potential candidates for the Dark Lord. Somehow it seemed totally in character for Voldemort to unleash Death while trying to do something else entirely.

Then there was also Dumbledore, whose parents had been a witch and a wizard, but whose actions had made me wonder if he had some morbid plans – for the Greater Evil. Could it be possible that he had somehow learned of the prophecy and decided to use Voldemort to bring it about? Was that the reason he had done almost nothing to defeat Voldemort during the war, just letting Moody, Crouch, and the others to take charge?

Or was the future Dark Lord so clever and insidious that he would avoid all attention by playing the role of a meek fool? It was probably best to keep a close watch on Colin Creevey.

As I lay down in my bed and thought about the massive revelation, I felt cold shivers all over my neck and back. I had forgotten all my petty plans and manipulations, because what I had heard and seen was so big and significant. My quest, my purpose, was not the fight against Voldemort, or even against Dumbledore. I was but a pawn in an epic war against Death itself, continuing the fight my great ancestor had fought. But, if my assumptions were correct, both Voldemort and Dumbledore might be fighting this war on Death's side, each in their own way.

* * *

Published on the 13th of May, 2020.


	30. Spectacle for the Shallow

Chapter 30

SPECTACLE FOR THE SHALLOW

As I woke up on Monday morning, memories of the previous night flooded my mind, and for full ten seconds I had to convince myself that the revelation about Salazar Slytherin's quest had not been just a dream. Then the ridiculous truth about my situation struck me like a Bludger.

I was in a _school!_ And I was supposed to prepare for the idiotic Triwizard Tournament. As if I did not have better things to do. Salazar had just bestowed the most important quest ever on my shoulders, and here I was, preparing to entertain hundreds of fools with a show that most likely did not offer me any challenge at all. And I _could not_ simply choose to do something infinitely more important, because a bloody _binding magical contract_ demanded that I participate in the Tasks.

Well, there was nothing I could do to prevent Death from being unleashed at the moment. And, come to think of it, joining the Unspeakables of the Department of Mysteries had become an even more important short-term goal for me. Apparently their brotherhood dated back thousands of years, and it was not established by the Ministry to do whatever they did. At least they studied the Veil of Death, and Salazar had not had access to their libraries. I _had to_ become an Unspeakable, even if it took five years of bureaucratic Purgatory in the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Saving the world was worth the sacrifice.

But, obviously, I would save the world in a very Slytherin way: killing two birds with one stone. I would both save the world and conquer it. That was how Salazar would have wanted it, I had no doubt about it.

* * *

The next Tournament related occasion was the wand weighing ceremony. The Champions and the judges gathered in a classroom to meet Ollivander the wandmaker. I handed him the wand I had brought with me. It was not Gilderoy Lockhart's wand, obviously, because it would have caused many questions. During the summer, immediately after reading that there was traditionally such a ceremony after the Triwizard Champions had been selected, I had visited Knockturn Alley and bought a used wand made by a Persian wandmaker.

The _Daily Prophet _had sent a reporter and a photographer for the first reportage about the Tournament. The reporter was none other than Rita Skeeter whose articles I usually enjoyed reading, but I had an ominous feeling about being one of those she wrote about.

When the article was published in the newspaper, many Slytherins had trouble not to laugh their heads off. Apparently, Harry had told Skeeter more personal things than he had ever told me, and she had boldly shared everything with her audience. However, I had not seen even half of them in Harry's mind with Legilimency, and that made me suspect that Skeeter had made things up.

I was not even mentioned in the entire bloody article. So much for the valuable publicity. Readers had to guess who the handsome young man was in the group picture next to "Fluer de Liqueur" and "Bnktop Kpym," but perhaps it was better that Skeeter had not even tried to spell the name "Valedro." Who knows, perhaps it would have turned out as "Riddle," and that would have been detrimental to my plans.

Well, the _Prophet_ would have to change its journalistic approach after my victory. And if I did not win, it would probably be better that no one would remember I had participated at all.

* * *

As the First Task approached, I spent much time in the library. Viktor Krum was there too, and people probably thought we were anxiously preparing for the ordeal. Maybe Krum was, but I resumed the research I had begun in January, after the Patronus lesson and the vision of Death. Back then I had got a sudden inspiration which had not lasted, because I had only speculated there might be something going on with Voldemort, Dumbledore, and Death. Now I knew through Salazar's memories that Death was, in fact, waiting to be unleashed.

Salazar's journeys had never taken him to China, Japan, Australia, Western and Southern Africa, and, obviously, the Americas, so those regions were the ones whose mythologies and obscure lore I began to read through. Unfortunately, I still had lessons to attend to, and Harry kept asking for my help in his preparations. He had written to Remus whose most concrete piece of advice had been: ask Tom for help.

The Room of Requirement took many different and fantastic forms. We Champions were supposed to face the First Task with nothing but our wands, but after perusing the rules closely I realized that it was not forbidden to use the Summoning Charm to get almost any tool. I had taught the spell to Harry through Legilimency a year previously because it was so useful, and so that part of the practice did not cause trouble.

Dobby bought us many kinds of accessories on Diagon Alley, and we planned to place them somewhere in the vicinity before the Task began. There were potions, magical items, a spare wand, and even a handgun, as well as many items that Harry already had before: his bullet-proof vest, broomstick, and invisibility cloak. I had a feeling that the entire Tournament would turn out to be a profound anticlimax.

The Saturday before the First Task students had a trip to Hogsmeade. Perhaps the purpose was to give the Champions an opportunity to acquire whatever they needed from the village, because Harry was allowed to go despite the threat of Sirius Black. At the gates a group of Aurors was waiting for him, and three of them surrounded him closely while one hovered above him on a broomstick, all having their wands ready. No one was allowed to come near Harry, and as Hermione and I were following him from afar, none of us were having much fun. Moody was also present, trailing Harry with his magical eye darting wildly back and forth, and he looked quite frustrated.

We met Remus in Hogsmeade – or, rather, Hermione and I did, because the Aurors immediately levelled their wands at the known werewolf and did not allow him anywhere near Harry. They totally ignored Harry's reassurances that Remus was his trusted friend, and accompanied him anywhere he went, scaring the customers of Honeydukes and the Three Broomsticks. Hermione was outraged by their unjust judgment of Remus because of his lycanthropy, but Remus himself was so used to it that he accepted it without complaint, just looking weary and resigned.

"How's Harry getting along as a Champion?" Remus asked as he was watching Harry's annoyed expression and the grim Aurors who shared the table with him next to the fireplace in the Three Broomsticks, ready to evacuate their important charge through the Floo.

"He was quite shocked at first," I said, "but he's gained confidence since then. We've practiced a lot, and I'm confident he'll do fine."

"He had a falling-out with Ron," Hermione added, somehow remembering to tell about the personal stuff which I had not realized was worth telling about. "Ron thinks Harry entered his name himself."

"James would've done whatever it took to become the Champion," Remus said. "But Harry is not like his father, and Ron should know it. What about you, Tom? You seem at ease."

"Honestly, I'm already regretting a bit that I took part in this ridiculous Tournament," I said. "This is my final year at Hogwarts, and there are still many books in the library that I'd like to read. The Tournament takes too much of my time."

"The Department of Mysteries is still in your mind, yes?"

"I'm a curious sort of a person. I can't be content before the mysteries are mine. Oh, speaking of curious, have you heard anything from Mr Pettigrew?"

"Nothing," Remus sighed. "Let's hope he managed to start a new life in peace. I think your spying missions scared him a bit too much."

"And now I'd very much like to have someone sneaking around Hogwarts for me," I muttered. "None of us has seen Black on the Marauder's Maps. However, Barty Crouch appears to visit frequently, and he has secret meetings with Moody. I wonder if they're onto something."

"I think Crouch visits mainly to enjoy the hospitality of Hogwarts' house-elves," Hermione sniffed resentfully. "He doesn't have his own anymore, remember? I don't think he ever learned to cook his own meals."

"Yes, that may be true," I consented. She had been overprotective of all house-elves since witnessing the sacking of Crouch's elf, but fortunately I had been spared of her zealous crusade for the rights of elves. I, after all, paid Dobby for his services. Her zeal was probably partly my fault too, because I had first introduced her to the slavery of elves as a way of showing how much of a goodie I appeared to be.

Hermione was clever, but she had no sense of priorities.

* * *

On Sunday morning Harry arrived to the Room of Requirement with the same shocked and desperate expression as before our preparation sessions.

"Hagrid asked me to visit him last night," he explained, "and I did. He showed me what the First Task is – dragons! The three beasts guarding the gate, plus a fourth one. This is far worse than anything we have practiced for!"

"Dragons for the First Task?" I asked incredulously. "And Dumbledore still reassured us this Tournament would be safer than the old ones? What are we supposed to do, kill them?"

"No, Charlie reckons we only need to get past them – Charlie Weasley, you know, Ron's brother, he's a dragonologist… anyway, I met Moody on the way here, and he hinted that I should Summon my broom and fly past the dragon."

"He probably knows more about the Task than we do, so that's what we'll do."

So we practiced. Over and over again Harry Summoned his Nimbus Two Thousand and flew around the Room of Requirement while I shot balls of fire at him. We did not leave the Room for lunch, but asked Dobby to bring us whatever he could salvage from the Great Hall, and that was how we had our dinner too. After spending ten hours indoors throwing balls of fire I felt quite frazzled, but Harry had regained some of his confidence.

On Monday we had lessons, but in the evening we practiced a few more hours. Finally, as curfew was close, Harry groped his hair and said,

"If this is not enough, nothing is. Thank you, Tom, I don't know what I would do without your help." Suddenly he looked quite embarrassed. "But you haven't had any time to prepare for your own way past the dragon!"

"Don't worry about it," I said and smirked. "I've had months to plan what I'll do. If these imbeciles want a magnificent spectacle, I'll give them one!"

* * *

On Tuesday morning the seventh-year Slytherin boys wished me good luck, but since I did not need or want to rely on luck, I asked Peregrine Derrick and Lucian Bole to stay behind when the others left for breakfast.

"I've prepared for even the most absurd scenarios," I said and handed them a letter. "Do not open it. I'll take it back after the Task. If, however, it appears that I die during whatever awaits me, you will open it and follow the instructions. Is this clear?"

"Yes, my lord," my two servants said.

After their shock of being bound to my service through an Unbreakable Vow had lifted, they had learned to respect and even admire my ruthlessness, especially since I had never used my power over them for anything unreasonable. Perhaps they already felt willing loyalty towards me, which was necessary for the part I had planned for them just in case. If the dragon destroyed my body, my servants would willingly sacrifice their own flesh, forcibly take the blood of my enemy (Snape, obviously, who was to be ambushed by my five servants still at Hogwarts), and dig up a bone of my father to be unknowingly given. That was how to perform the ritual to restore to true life a soul anchored to the mortal world by a Horcrux.

Excitement was rising among the students as the day progressed. I managed to stay calm and uninterested. At the end of Potions class Snape told me with a cruel and anticipatory grin,

"Valedro, the First Task takes place after lunch in a clearing of the Forbidden Forest to the right from the front doors. Don't expect me to lead you there."

"Thank you for the information, sir," I said dryly. We had both grown tired of bickering.

"Good luck, Tom," the other students said. "You'll do fine!"

If I had cared, I would have felt slightly offended by how much everyone thought the Tournament would be a challenge to me.

During lunch I was silent while Draco, Theodore, and many others tried to create a festive atmosphere. I had to eat hastily to get away from such nonsense, and soon I was walking outside, finally alone.

It was a sunny day, rare in Scotland in autumn, and I was not the only one enjoying it. People were coming through the gates in large numbers, babbling excitedly about the show of the day. I followed them to the clearing Snape had mentioned, and saw a large tent and a vast arena behind it. Huge stands had been conjured to the right side of the arena, but as of yet there was not much for the audience to see. The dragons were supposed to be a surprise until the very last moment.

As the Triwizard Tournament was an important international spectacle, the stands were filling with spectators from all around Europe. Cornelius Fudge was present, probably hoping the Tournament would not become such an embarrassment to the Ministry as the Quidditch World Cup had been. The political leaders of France and Russia were also there, supporting the champions of the schools located in those two countries.

The title of the leader of French wizards was Cardinal. That dated back to the seventeenth century when the great wizard Armand Jean du Plessis had ruled both the magical and Muggle France as Cardinal Richelieu. His successors had continued to use the title even after there had not been any religious aspects in the job. The French Revolution had not changed wizarding France in the same way it had changed Muggle France. French wizards had followed the old ways ever since the Muggle-born Dark Lord Napoléon Bonaparte had been defeated.

Wizarding Russia was a totally different story which was why the two nations usually bickered with one another. The October Revolution of 1917 had been orchestrated by Grindelwald and ever since a group of ideologically dogmatic wizards had ruled wizarding Russia. At first they had been serving Grindelwald, but that had changed in 1940 when a group of British, French, and American wizards had usurped the People's Commissariat for Magic and placed some of their allies in power, and grudgingly preserved the communist Muggle government for the sake of the war effort. (That had, of course, led to Operation Barbarossa on the Muggle side of Grindelwald's war.) The Soviet Union had been one of the last Muggle countries to be ruled by wizards, much to the disapproval of the International Confederation of Wizards, but even after the Soviet Union had disintegrated, wizarding Russia had continued to follow communist ideals. That was why the title of the leader of Russian wizards was Comrade. (It was perfectly possible to make communism function properly with the help of magic and house-elves. Muggle communists had sadly never realized the crucially important detail that Karl Marx had been a wizard whose understanding of the workings of a non-magical society had been as sorely lacking as that of Arthur Weasley's.)

I looked at the crowd of witches and wizards. Many of them, perhaps, would later realize that this was the first day they saw the future Dark Lord Tom Valedro. Much was at stake, so I had to make a formidable first impression. Then I remembered the prophecy of the Delphic Oracle, and asked myself whether I truly wanted to identify myself as a Dark Lord anymore. I was in the risk group of those who might unleash Death; it was wiser not to take chances with Fate.

I entered the tent reserved for the Champions. Delacour and Krum were already present, both looking nervous in their own ways. Ludo Bagman came shortly after me, and a few moments later Harry arrived as well.

Bagman began to enthusiastically explain the objective of the Task. This one was similar to many of the Tasks of historical Tournaments; claiming a prize protected by a creature, in this case a golden egg. After the Hogwarts students had passed the tent and taken their seats on the stands next to the audience from all over Europe, Bagman offered us a bag with miniature versions of what we were about to face.

Delacour took out a Common Welsh Green dragon and the number two. She did not look shocked or even surprised, as if she had known what the Task was about; clearly it was not a good idea to appoint the Headmasters of the competing schools as judges who had all the information about the Tasks. Krum's challenge would be a Chinese Fireball, the one brought in a hurry after the incident with the Goblet of Fire; he would be the third one to try.

Next Bagman offered the bag to me. I had cast the Supersensory Charm on myself so that I would not need to choose my dragon blindly. I purposely picked the Hungarian Horntail, the most dangerous of the dragons and thus the one that would grant me the most glory. My number was four. It was polite not to set the bar incredibly high for the other Champions.

What was left for Harry was a Swedish Short-Snout and the number one. He looked frightened, but after meeting my eyes regained the confidence he had built for weeks.

"Now I must leave you, because I'll be commenting," Bagman said. "When the whistle is blown, just step into the arena. Harry, you are the first… you should come…"

They left, and soon Delacour, Krum, and I had to listen without being able to see. The spectators were roaring, Bagman was blabbering, and then Harry's voice cried,

"_Accio_ vest! _Accio_ pouch! _Accio_ broom!"

And so he began the aerobatic show he had been drilling for two days. I really would have wanted to see it myself, but watching the expressions of Delacour and Krum was sufficient entertainment too. As Bagman praised Harry's movements fervently, Delacour clearly began to fear she would not perform as well as "ze leettle boy." Krum, on the other hand, was clearly considering a change of tactic; either he had planned to fly and now did not want to repeat Harry's tactic, or then he had not realized he could utilize his natural talent and was now wondering if he could Summon his Firebolt from Bulgaria or Durmstrang, wherever it was.

Then the spectators burst in applause; Harry had succeeded and survived. I grinned, and then Delacour stepped out of the tent. It began anew, lasting for a longer time than with Harry. After she had finished, Krum left, and I began to feel excited for the first time.

Finally it was my turn. I entered the arena with an air of confidence, and inclined my head at the stands.

_Now you'll see a show worthy of your Galleons_, I thought.

The Hungarian Horntail was looking at me with hostile eyes. I took out my wand with dramatic slowness, waved it while muttering incantations, and then pointed it to the ground next to me. An illusion formed, taking my exact likeness. The spell I had cast was commonly used in magical theatre performances. It did not take a particularly talented wizard (or even a perceptive Muggle) to realize that the illusion was not a real person, but dragons were mere animals, incapable of making the logical conclusion about creatures which could be seen and heard, but not smelt or felt.

"_Sonorus_," I said and then turned to speak to the illusion with my amplified voice. "We shall attack at once!"

"Yes, my liege!" I replied to myself, making it look and sound as if the illusion had said it. "Stand by for attack!"

I waved my wand again, and the illusion repeated the same movement. Suddenly two more illusions appeared. I waved my wand again, and four illusions appeared, then eight, then sixteen, thirty-two, sixty-four, and so on, until over a thousand Tom Valedros were standing all around the Hungarian Horntail and her eggs. While the army of my illusions had multiplied, I had made myself invisible, Summoned my Firebolt, and risen above the army to conduct the performance.

My first illusion stepped forward, and I yelled through its mouth,

"Hungarian Horntail! Today the blood of many a valiant wizard shall be avenged! In the name of Hogwarts: we shall not stop our fight till you are back in your chains and the golden egg belongs to me, whom the Goblet of Fire has chosen!" A brief, dramatic pause, during which I noticed that everyone in the stands was holding their breath. "CHARGE!"

Like a bunch of drunken Gryffindors, my over a thousand illusions cried and lunged forward, brandishing their wands and shooting multicoloured sparks high into the air. Such an insane show of bravado was enough to make even the Hungarian Horntail to panic, and she bellowed in fury. The illusions just continued their assault, and the dragon breathed a tornado of fire. Dozens of my illusions popped out of existence like soap bubbles, but it was too little and too late for the dragon. The illusions reached her, grabbed her wings, legs, and tail with their immaterial hands, and tried to climb on top of her. She roared, breathed more fire, slashed with her claws, whipped with her tail, and shook the illusions off by rolling on the ground.

While the spectators were watching in horror at the rapidly increasing death rate of my illusions and wondering which one of them was the real me, I subtly flew behind the dragon and took the golden egg with my invisible hands. Then I landed right in front of the stands, Banished my Firebolt, and waited for the dragon to dispatch the rest of the illusions. Finally she gave a roar of triumph as her nest was cleared of attackers, and an utter silence came over the stands.

That was when I dispelled the Disillusionment Charm and presented the golden egg to everyone. There was a brief, stunned silence, but then the roar of applause began, and I grinned. The Triwizard Tournament was, after all, an event primarily for the spectators, not the Champions. I had given them exactly what they wanted.

Harry came to me grinning more widely than I had seen in months.

"That was some show," he said. "I was absolutely terrified of this Tournament, but it seems this is but a joke to you."

"The very nature of this Tournament is to be entertainment," I told him. "Not necessarily more dangerous than a Quidditch game, especially one with cursed broomsticks, rogue Bludgers, and hungry Dementors. Sirius Black just didn't realize it."

The judges had decided about my points, and everyone turned to watch. Madame Maxime gave me full ten points, as did Crouch, Dumbledore, and Bagman. Karkaroff was the last one. He looked angry, and made his feelings absolutely clear by giving me two points.

There was uproar of indignation in the stands, but I could not help bursting into hysterical laughter. The uproar quieted in confusion, then some people joined my mirth, and eventually everyone seemed to be roaring with laughter. Karkaroff's face went as crimson as his robes with humiliation, and he increased the points to five. That did little to diminish the glee of the spectators.

Karkaroff had apparently decided to compete with Snape about who was the most childish adult. What was the matter with these former Death Eaters?

* * *

Published on the 1st of June, 2020.


End file.
